They say that helping other people gives you immense joy.
They say that going out of your way to brighten someone's day fills you with satisfaction.
They say that extending a hand to someone in need can go a long way.
They are absolutely right.
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For some time now, I have been involved with a Mumbai-based organisation called the Vivekananda Youth Forum (yes, the one in the title). It is a 25 - year old NGO that seeks to harness the talent and hidden potential of each individual in an effort to work towards a progressive, dynamic society. It was inspired by the thoughts and beliefs of Swami Vivekananda, a great Indian reformer, activist and saint. One of their numerous ongoing projects is a center called Sandhyalaya (evening school). It is there that I go to play my role in the community.
Sandhyalaya is a "school" for children living in slums, and provides remedial education, which involves Mathematics, English, values, life skills - basically whatever is needed to turn these children into responsible citizens. There are about 40 or 50 kids in the program, and 7 or 8 of us who teach them. Although sometimes I get the feeling that the teaching is mutual.
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Hunched over, face rapt with concentration, he painstakingly writes out the answer to the problem. With baited breath, I lean over and glance at the culmination of his efforts, hoping, praying that I see what I want to see. But it is not to be. The mistake glares up at me - so trivial, yet causing the two of us so much pain. My frustration almost bubbles over. I want to scream at the injustice of it all. I am not angry at him, I am angry because I want him to learn, to succeed, to experience the feeling that accompanies every solved problem.
Breathing deeply, I keep my emotions at bay. Slowly, laboriously, I point out the error in his answer and guide him towards the right solution. This time he gets it - a flicker of a smile appears on his face as he hands me his notebook. I, too, am temporarily at ease. Although I can't help but wonder: How many more of these moments await us?
-
The first thing that I noticed about the children in Sandhyalaya was their instant acceptance of me. From the first day that I started going there, they accepted me into their sphere, as if I had grown up with them. I was met with an approving chorus of greetings and smiles. Slightly perturbed, I did my best to reciprocate: never in my life had I met with such enthusiasm on walking into a room. I marveled at them - these children lived in the worst of conditions, with the worst of environments to grow up in. Yet they had the courage and fortitude to smile. Filth and squalid hutments surrounded their ramshackle homes, yet they nurtured an incredibly positive outlook on life. Most of them had dysfunctional families, and yet they showed a desire to better themselves. Not once in our interactions have I heard them curse fate, not once have they bemoaned the unfairness of their lives. It makes me feel ashamed when I whine about my misfortune; and I think about these wonderful children, who brave unimaginable setbacks every single day of their lives.
They are literally made of different stuff.
The quality of education that these Sandhyalaya kids receive in their regular schools is below zero - some of them don't even get the chance to attend school everyday, due to the fact that they have to work and earn money just to account for their meals. As a result, their level is below that of an average child of their age group. The fact that english is not spoken in their homes only adds to their difficulties. Whatever english they speak is during school hours only - at home they slip back into their vernacular. One time I found myself explaining the meaning of the word 'languages' to a child in the 9th grade! It got me thinking about the futility of it all. But then I thought of the other volunteers and teachers around me who have dedicated half of their lives to this endevour, and I thought that maybe it wasn't as hopeless as I was making it out to be.
For every frustrating episode at Sandhyalaya, there is also a success story. One ex-student (name withheld for privacy) is currently pursuing a Bachelor's degree in Commerce and has even joined the National Cadet Corps program! And the most amazing part is that after all these years, she has returned - this time as a volunteer, to give back to the institute what it gave her!
Over time, I have come to love and admire these kids. Their successes are mine. And when they don't succeed, it's like a personal blow to me. Throughout the week, I look forward to my evening sessions with them. And why shouldn't I? I get to do my bit for society, I get to break out of my daily routine and help people and I get to spend some time with a few remarkable individuals. Each and every time I go there, I return home with a smile, tinged with sadness - sadness at the poor quality of life of so many people. And this is not even the tip of the iceberg. But I take heart in the fact that all over the world, there are committed individuals who are dedicating all their time to making this world a better place. And I take pride in the fact that I too am playing my part, in my capacity, and I vow to continue working for the greater good wherever irrespective of where I go in the future.
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"If you haven't got any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble."
- Bob Hope
My first session at Sandhyalaya really changed me. It opened my eyes to the harsh reality of life, away from the sheltered environments of my home and school. The epiphany I experienced was like when the Grinch's heart grew three sizes, and a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions came surging up - Why didn't I start doing this years ago? What did these children do to deserve the life that they are living now? What can I do - How can I help?
I cried when I went home that night. I cried because I felt for these children, because the sheer inhumanity of their lives struck me, because I wanted a Utopian world where none of these problems would exist. I also cried because I realised that I was finally doing something where I could be of help to others, and I was grateful that I had made the decision to do so. I think that some of the tears were also because of the overwhelming hospitality I had received from the kids at Sandhyalaya.
I spent my first session at Sandhyalaya teaching a bright young boy how to factorise polynomials. He was quite receptive and could grasp concepts pretty well. As both of us got up after winding up the session, he told me something that no one had ever said to me before, with a genuine smile on his face:
"Thank you, sir."
It is moments like this that offset hours of frustration.
They say that going out of your way to brighten someone's day fills you with satisfaction.
They say that extending a hand to someone in need can go a long way.
They are absolutely right.
-
For some time now, I have been involved with a Mumbai-based organisation called the Vivekananda Youth Forum (yes, the one in the title). It is a 25 - year old NGO that seeks to harness the talent and hidden potential of each individual in an effort to work towards a progressive, dynamic society. It was inspired by the thoughts and beliefs of Swami Vivekananda, a great Indian reformer, activist and saint. One of their numerous ongoing projects is a center called Sandhyalaya (evening school). It is there that I go to play my role in the community.
Sandhyalaya is a "school" for children living in slums, and provides remedial education, which involves Mathematics, English, values, life skills - basically whatever is needed to turn these children into responsible citizens. There are about 40 or 50 kids in the program, and 7 or 8 of us who teach them. Although sometimes I get the feeling that the teaching is mutual.
-
Hunched over, face rapt with concentration, he painstakingly writes out the answer to the problem. With baited breath, I lean over and glance at the culmination of his efforts, hoping, praying that I see what I want to see. But it is not to be. The mistake glares up at me - so trivial, yet causing the two of us so much pain. My frustration almost bubbles over. I want to scream at the injustice of it all. I am not angry at him, I am angry because I want him to learn, to succeed, to experience the feeling that accompanies every solved problem.
Breathing deeply, I keep my emotions at bay. Slowly, laboriously, I point out the error in his answer and guide him towards the right solution. This time he gets it - a flicker of a smile appears on his face as he hands me his notebook. I, too, am temporarily at ease. Although I can't help but wonder: How many more of these moments await us?
-
The first thing that I noticed about the children in Sandhyalaya was their instant acceptance of me. From the first day that I started going there, they accepted me into their sphere, as if I had grown up with them. I was met with an approving chorus of greetings and smiles. Slightly perturbed, I did my best to reciprocate: never in my life had I met with such enthusiasm on walking into a room. I marveled at them - these children lived in the worst of conditions, with the worst of environments to grow up in. Yet they had the courage and fortitude to smile. Filth and squalid hutments surrounded their ramshackle homes, yet they nurtured an incredibly positive outlook on life. Most of them had dysfunctional families, and yet they showed a desire to better themselves. Not once in our interactions have I heard them curse fate, not once have they bemoaned the unfairness of their lives. It makes me feel ashamed when I whine about my misfortune; and I think about these wonderful children, who brave unimaginable setbacks every single day of their lives.
They are literally made of different stuff.
The quality of education that these Sandhyalaya kids receive in their regular schools is below zero - some of them don't even get the chance to attend school everyday, due to the fact that they have to work and earn money just to account for their meals. As a result, their level is below that of an average child of their age group. The fact that english is not spoken in their homes only adds to their difficulties. Whatever english they speak is during school hours only - at home they slip back into their vernacular. One time I found myself explaining the meaning of the word 'languages' to a child in the 9th grade! It got me thinking about the futility of it all. But then I thought of the other volunteers and teachers around me who have dedicated half of their lives to this endevour, and I thought that maybe it wasn't as hopeless as I was making it out to be.
For every frustrating episode at Sandhyalaya, there is also a success story. One ex-student (name withheld for privacy) is currently pursuing a Bachelor's degree in Commerce and has even joined the National Cadet Corps program! And the most amazing part is that after all these years, she has returned - this time as a volunteer, to give back to the institute what it gave her!
Over time, I have come to love and admire these kids. Their successes are mine. And when they don't succeed, it's like a personal blow to me. Throughout the week, I look forward to my evening sessions with them. And why shouldn't I? I get to do my bit for society, I get to break out of my daily routine and help people and I get to spend some time with a few remarkable individuals. Each and every time I go there, I return home with a smile, tinged with sadness - sadness at the poor quality of life of so many people. And this is not even the tip of the iceberg. But I take heart in the fact that all over the world, there are committed individuals who are dedicating all their time to making this world a better place. And I take pride in the fact that I too am playing my part, in my capacity, and I vow to continue working for the greater good wherever irrespective of where I go in the future.
-
"If you haven't got any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble."
- Bob Hope
My first session at Sandhyalaya really changed me. It opened my eyes to the harsh reality of life, away from the sheltered environments of my home and school. The epiphany I experienced was like when the Grinch's heart grew three sizes, and a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions came surging up - Why didn't I start doing this years ago? What did these children do to deserve the life that they are living now? What can I do - How can I help?
I cried when I went home that night. I cried because I felt for these children, because the sheer inhumanity of their lives struck me, because I wanted a Utopian world where none of these problems would exist. I also cried because I realised that I was finally doing something where I could be of help to others, and I was grateful that I had made the decision to do so. I think that some of the tears were also because of the overwhelming hospitality I had received from the kids at Sandhyalaya.
I spent my first session at Sandhyalaya teaching a bright young boy how to factorise polynomials. He was quite receptive and could grasp concepts pretty well. As both of us got up after winding up the session, he told me something that no one had ever said to me before, with a genuine smile on his face:
"Thank you, sir."
It is moments like this that offset hours of frustration.
