We live in a small world.
A world which comprises our work, our friends, our homes,
our happiness, our problems and our entertainment.
We don’t see the homeless old man sprawled across the
railway station floor desperately seeking a few sips of water .
We don’t see the young woman, amputated at the limbs trying
hard to climb into an auto despite her handicap.
We don’t see the gross injustice being done when underage
children are being made to work even after a Right to Education has been
implemented.
We look the other way, refusing to acknowledge their presence,
consoling ourselves that someone else will come along and help them.
The day isn’t far when we become deadened to the voices of
our own family, become insensitive to the requests of our parents and
grandparents and push their existence to the back of our minds
That day is getting sooner rather than later.
If you are reading this and thinking “What bullcrap? I love
my parents and I would never neglect them!” then drop all that you are doing
and head to the nearest old-age home in your locality. Some of you might even
consider it a western concept, but you would be amazed at the sheer number of
such places that have sprung up across the country.
Last week, we as a group of around 25 freshers headed by the
ever-cheerful Roma and accompanied by Susheel spent a whole day at an old-age
home in Bangalore. To be honest, we were a little apprehensive. A day at an
orphanage sounded okay, but an old-age home deep-down was royally depressing.
This is my first job. And to elaborate on the subtle side,
it has far exceeded my expectations.
Leaving aside the work-aspect ( the most important bit) the amount of
importance emphasized on Corporate Social Responsibility(***CSR) was impressive. From the MD to the CSR head, the passion they had for
bringing out some social awareness among the working IT class was inspiring. Their core focus was
this - work will come, work will go. But what we do to give back to society is
what counts at the end of the day.
My manager literally threw me out of some very important
training, shaking his head saying “CSR is extremely important. You are not
missing it under any circumstances.”
The place we were visiting is called Omashram. It houses 40 inmates,
mostly women. They have either been abandoned and left to fend for themselves
or dropped off by their children along with a sum of money as a token of their
responsibility.
Each woman there had
her own little story to share with us.
One woman told us about how she was born in Karnataka but
spent 40 years of her life in North India. She had lived in New Delhi and
Ayodhya. She used to visit Haridwar and Rishikesh every year with her husband.
She had moved back to Bangalore a few years ago after which her husband passed
away. She has one son in Delhi and one in Bangalore. Why was she here then?
Another woman had just moved in 15 days ago. She had brought
her little T.V with her. She told us stories about her trips abroad mostly to
the US. Like Miami, Houston and Chicago. She was the epitome of a grandmother
etched in a cartoon. With short white hair, a little tanglish and an endearing
smile to match she squealed with excitement when we explained to her the
concept of a missed call. Her kids were abroad. Why was she here then?
Relatively young, another woman was the cool dude of the
home. She gave us advice we wish would come from our parents.
Her advice list went as
- Do not get married early.
- Enjoy life di khol ke for the next 2 years.
- Find a good boy once you are ready to handle responsibility.
- Strictly, restrict the number of children to 1.
She had multiple children capable of taking care of her. Why
was she here then?
I have been living in Bangalore for more than 1 month now.
And uptil that moment in the old- age home, any language barrier was never
felt. If not English, then Hindi. If not Hindi, then Tamil. If not either then
mix everything up and some understanding is bound to happen. This is how we
survived.
But not at the Home.
At the Home, we met women who spoke English, Hindi, Kannada,
Telugu and Tamil in various combinations. One room was occupied by a group of
women who knew only Kannada. They described their lives before the old-age home,
their children who hadn’t visited in ages, their grandchildren they never knew
in flesh and blood. All this they said in a language we didn’t understand a
word of. Still we somehow understood. Some things don’t need language. They are
just felt.
At the home, there was a separate block for bed-ridden
patients.
Here every single person spoke only in Kannada. One old
woman caught hold of me and admonished me for wearing heavy earrings. She spoke
about her daughter who had left her in the home and promised to return but
hadn’t. She told us about her new-born granddaughter whom she had never met.
Typical of old people, she complained about the food, the caretaker, the
surroundings. But when we spoke to the caretaker, she turned out to be an
amazing woman with an even more amazing story who had decided to stay at the
home but helped out for free because she was more physically capable.
When leaving the home, a woman caught hold of our hands with
tears in her eyes. She spoke in a language we didn’t follow, but we knew what
she was trying to convey. She held on tight and asked when we were coming back
again. No matter how much we tried reassuring her, she refused to agree.
She reminded me of my grandmother.
In fact, every single one of them reminded me of my frail,
old grandmother who passed away 3 years ago. She had us all around her till the
very end.
These women were not that fortunate. That’s when we felt
like staying a little longer. We bade goodbye with a heavy heart and promises
to return. But as they say , promises are meant to be broken.
I just wish I am wrong and empty promises don’t linger .
*** CSR : a term we never thought would hold so much importance in the IT world
