They had fled to India across the Western border to escape the constant nightmare that haunts Hindus living in Pakistan. Seven-year-old Raj Nandini, who crossed over along with her parents last year from Sindh, is one of them. She and 200 others are now living in a shanty town in Rohini Sector 11 in the capital. Her desire is to escape the grim poverty and deprivation in the refugee camp and find success in the Promised Land. Her prayer was answered in the form of 19-year-old Pareedhi Bhatnagar, a student of Kasturi Ram College, and an aspiring journalist and photographer.
According to a report by the Movement for Solidarity and Peace in Pakistan, up to 1,000 women—700 Christians and 300 Hindus—are forcibly converted to Islam every day in Pakistan. For Pareedhi, meeting the little refugee girl was beginning of a new endeavour. She was determined to improve the future of the refugee families by empowering their young. She now teaches pro bono around 50 refugee kids living in the camp. Most of them go to government schools nearby, but are unable to spell, count or write properly.
◆Nandini, too, is one such student. She studies in Class IV at North Delhi Municipal Corporation’s primary school. She barely has clothes to cover herself. Her feet are bare. Yet her eyes shine with hope when she meets her beloved instructor. Pareedhi has taught her to spell the names of fruits and animals. Nandini confesses shyly to a keen interest in photography. Pareedhi, armed with her DSLR camera, a laptop and a box of candy for the children reaches the camp every day to teach.
Pareedhi Bhatnagar, after finishing classes at Kasturi Ram College, comes past four in the evening to the camp. A brisk walk of 15 minute takes from home to the bamboo and canvas tent that has been set up as a tuition centre. Portraits of Hanuman, Durga, Radha and Krishna look down benevolently on the children. Keeping them company is a portrait of Gobind Ballabh Pant. Once Pareedhi arrives and settles down, her little pupils gather around her. “From childhood I wanted to give something back to society. Today, I have the opportunity to give these children what my parents give me.”
◆ But her task hasn’t been easy. Since the first time she chanced upon the camp, Pareedhi has been desperately trying to get the refugees to send their kids to school, because “they do not deserve this life”. Most of her students barely know how to speak Hindi or Punjabi. “Earlier, they had no idea how to frame basic words and sentences. Now I see a real change,” says Pareedhi.
Nandini’s father Rajesh is a construction worker. He says, “Such opportunities were not available back in Pakistan. Now, I am very happy to see Nandini doing so well.” Rajesh recollects instances in Sindh, of harassment of young girls, while local authorities and neighbours look the other way. “I have two daughters and did not want my children to grow up in such an unsafe environment, which is why I escaped to India,” he says.
◆ But for Pareedhi, the conflict between the two countries matters less than the future of her ragged wards. She requested the local MCD authorities to reserve the area around a devi temple to set up coaching classes.
But the reality is often different. Sitting on a dari spread across the floor, the students chorus in delight simple words that Pareedhi was teaching them. Suddenly, she notices something. A small frown crosses her smooth brow. “Where is Madhuri?” she asks suddenly.
Madhuri has bunked class. The eight-year-old was helping her sick mother cook a meal for her father who works as a help at a local eatery. “I face such situations regularly, where I have to fight for the children to be allowed to come and study basic skills,” she says. However, many residents of the camp are slowly warming up to the idea of private tuition classes.
She doesn’t just help the refugee children with basics like spelling words, writing sentences and learning alphabets. She insists that they also learn how to communicate properly; an essential part of her training methods.
◆ The refugees who left their property, homes and even their families in a quest for better living in India face prejudice in Delhi, too. Few of them get good jobs. For eight-year-old Pooja’s father, Badri Kumar, even finding a home at the camp was not easy. But Pareedhi’s mission has its moments. When Pooja started using the painting software on her teacher’s laptop to draw pictures, Pareedha felt proud. “My kids are very intelligent,” she exults.
◆ The camp houses around 200 families on DDA land. They have not been evicted on humanitarian grounds. Their children too get school admissions on the same grounds, at the recommendation of the local councillor Pravesh Wahi. The occupants, who have been given long-term five-year visas as per current government policy, are not the wealthy residents of Delhi, who fly to Pakistan to watch cricket matches, party or simply to visit friends. They have no work permits either and make a living as daily wagers. Their children go barefoot, and sleep on flea-infested mattresses. Desultory table fans are the only succour from the heat.
“At the end of the day I derive the satisfaction of doing something worthwhile with my free time. The children make me happy,” she says.
For Nandini and children like her, fortunately, the past is a long way from the future.