"Hamare gar mai Papa ne Mummi ko bhot mara"
"In our house, Father hit Mother a lot"

"Is liye Aap ithar hai, naa?"
"That's why you're here, right?"

"Ha(n)!"
"Yes!"

"Lehkin Mummi kidar hai?"
"But where's Mummi?"

"Woh to gar gahi!"
"She went home!"

***

Back on Sunday, November 8, I began volunteering with Maher Ashram. There are Maher centers throughout Pune, though the sizes of these centers greatly vary. I have been informed that, throughout Pune, there are approximately 21 Maher units that engage in a number of different activities. These activities run the gamut of services, ranging from providing housing to impoverished or orphaned children to rehabilitation programs for abusive husbands.

I had been introduced to Maher through an assignment I was working on for my fellowship. During the time, I was visiting a private English medium school known as Gyanankur so as to get better acclimated with the Indian education system and examine the acquisition of English language skills in a classroom environment.

While at the school, I ended up developing a relatively good working relationship with the teachers. Well enough, at least, for them to mention at least a couple of times that a fair number of the students attending the school, around 35, were Maher kids, coming from the children's home in Wagholi. Notably, this school visit had been in early October.

As the month continued on, I found myself increasingly bored on the weekends. Living in Balewadi, Pune is not a very exciting experience, as this developing gaon has neither the excitement of city life nor the charm of village life (as another fellow so eloquently pointed out once). Additionally, I found myself increasingly discontent, as I had no volunteer engagements at the time. As someone who staunchly believes in the power of civil society, civic engagement, and volunteerism, I was disappointed in myself for not being engaged. So, when I came across Maher's website while searching for volunteer opportunities in Pune, I jumped at the opportunity to set a meeting with Maher's founder, Sister Lucy, to begin volunteering with the Maher kids who attended Gyanankur.

I went into the meeting with a lot of hopes and expectations. Having worked a great deal with children in the past, I figured that I would be able to contribute a lot to the organization. And, going forth with the typical American mindset that I need to go into a situation with a plan of action and an agenda, I sought to have Sister Lucy clearly articulate what the kids' needs were so I could begin working to address those needs. I was disappointed, however, when Sister Lucy made no specific mention of areas in which I could help. She only mentioned that I should go there and simply speak and play with the students, as this would help improve their English skills and would best serve them.

At the time, I did not understand Sister Lucy's request. After all, I had a ton of experience ranging from camp counselor to tutor. Surely I could set up something, anything, for the children. Perhaps I could work on planning a summer camp for them? Maybe I could tutor them in English? Or, since I was studying innovative teaching techniques, perhaps I could teach the Maher staff how to better help the kids with their lessons using fun pedagogical and teaching techniques? Why would Sister Lucy ask me to engage in something so non-descript as, effectively, simply hanging out with the kids? Do the kids or staff have no tangible needs I can seek to address?

Shortly after arriving at Maher for my first day of volunteering, I realized the brilliance of Sister Lucy's request. The location I was going to volunteer in, as Sister Lucy had mentioned ahead of time, was not just a children's home; it was also a "mentally disturbed" women's shelter (their term, not mine) and a care facility for the neglected elderly. On account of this, there generally was not a dearth of volunteers. Volunteers come all the time, one having recently left just a few weeks prior to my arrival. These volunteers generally stay for a (relatively) long period of time and function in a particular role, such as teaching acting classes, working with the children on arts and crafts, and so forth.

Interestingly, these very acts of volunteering, while incredibly helpful, seemingly led the children to develop particular perspectives about the volunteers and their roles. Similarly, having been assigned a task, many of the volunteers would end up completing that task alone, perhaps to the neglect of some of the other needs of the kids and mentally disturbed women (the elderly were housed in a different building). After all, it would be difficult for a volunteer to spend individual time with each child while simultaneously attempting to conduct an activity for 35 children.

In not assigning me a particular role, Sister Lucy had effectively done two things. First, she allowed me the flexibility to serve in a role as I saw fit and develop my own volunteer schedule. Considering the large degree of travel I will have to do for work, this was absolutely imperative for me. Second, and perhaps more importantly and to the point, this extremely flexible assignment would allow the children to see me however THEY saw fit. I was not Uncle Samir, the teacher. Nor was I Uncle Samir, the counselor. I was simply Uncle Samir, and the kids could therefore assign whatever role to me they desire.

So, I became Uncle Samir, the guy who shows movies on his laptop. And Uncle Samir, the cricket player. Or Uncle Samir, the human climbing post (35 kids living under a single roof and sharing meager facilities tend to have a relatively loose concept of personal space…go figure). But, perhaps more relevant, I often became Uncle Samir, the confidant. Or Uncle Samir, the friend. Or Uncle Samir, the big brother.

It was an ingenious move by Sister Lucy, and one I have only recently come to appreciate. And I think it is the right role, as attestable by the large number of kids vying for my attention at any given time. I only wish there were more volunteers to serve a similar role so that the children would all receive the individual attention, smile, hug, and companion they so desperately desire, even if for only a week.

Unfortunately, it seems that most local Puneites rarely volunteer relative to foreigners, which is an incredible shame.

***

"Woh to gar gahi!"
"She went home!"

"Woh gar gahi? Kyu?"
"She went home? Why?"

…
No response.

"Koi bhaat nahi. Aap ko ithir mazaa aara hai, naa?"
No worries. You're having fun here, right?"

The conversation above occurred between a young Maher child and me. She approached me, out of the blue, and set this staggering matter-of-fact statement before me with a huge grin on her face, expressing this bombshell with a child-like innocence and lack of awareness of the implications of what she was saying. She came to Maher from an abusive household with her younger brother and mother; the mother has since returned to the father but sensibly (or is it selfishly?) left her children at Maher as she purportedly went to try to reconcile her relationship with her husband.

Though I personally doubt the mother's selflessness (though I totally believe her story as it is far too common), I honestly hope that things work out in the siblings' best interest in the end. It would be absolutely horrible if, during this situation with her parents, she ends up losing her innocence, happiness, and trust in what becomes a ferocious cycle of trust and disappointment.

I hope that, unlike one kid at the shelter, she doesn't become a child so conflicted about physical contact that she will jump onto your neck one minute but scream bloody murder when you lift her up the next. Or like another child, becomes so deprived of attention that she frequently acts out in her own selfish interests, often to the derision of her brothers and sisters at the Ashram. Or, like a third child, becomes so needful of adult interpersonal interactions that she constantly hangs onto visitors and becomes visibly distraught when they leave… or becomes even worse off, as far too many children throughout India know far too well.

***

"Koi bhaat nahi. Aap ko ithir mazaa aara hai, naa?"
No worries. You're having fun here, right?"

…
No response.

"Nahi?"
"No?"

She runs a few steps toward the stairs, turns to flash me a huge grin inviting me to follow, and continues on her way to the playground. All is apparently out of mind for her, thankfully.

Not for me, though. My mind is reeling.