Parikrma

Imagine you are a child- the child of a deceased father and a mother who works all day. No one in your family has ever gone to school. You live in the slums- a room barely the size of a closet, a bed bulging out of it, is your home.

An auto rickshaw- India's taxi

You hear of something- a school. A free school, for kids like you. You jump at the chance. Your mother supports this choice. She wishes she had enough money to send you yourself, but she doesn't. So everyday, you, your brother, and other children you know pile into the auto rickshaw that someone's father drives everyday for a living. You go to school, a clean place. You sit huddled around tables while a teacher tells you about things you have never heard of till now- Arithmetic and English and Hindi and Reading. It is a foreign language, but you drink in eagerly. You wish to learn and stuff your brain till it bursts. You want to make up for your heritage and rise from the slums and walk along the goras (white people) rather than have them look at you pitifully.
Six months later-
Now, you speak confident and fluent English. You are top of your class. Your mother is so proud of you. So proud. You are going up in the world.
This school is called Parikrma.
I visited it this winter. I played kabaddi with kids my age. I did some sums with them. They accepted me. I was their friend. It was amazing.
When I went, they gave me a card. Inside it was written:
Dear Tanvi Akka,
Thank you for being our friend.
From,
The Children of Parikrma
03.01.2012
All children are not so lucky. 18% ofchildren in India are illiterate. Many are from the slums. I'm not part of Parikrma or anything. I'm just an individual. I'm not doing this for commercial purposes or as a fundraiser, even. Just have a look at the website. Have a look. Maybe you'll help, maybe not. It depends.
Think about it.