A billboard sponsored by the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare at the Chandni Chowk metro station in New Delhi promotes gender equality. | Photo by Carly Shinn
Story by Carly Shinn
Women throughout the world can learn the sex of their unborn child from a black and white sonogram photo.
For Indian women, it’s not that simple. Laws are in place to make sure sex determination does not happen because if it does, some may choose to have an abortion.
Sex-selective abortion is increasing in India, where patriarchal traditions have made having boys more desirable than girls. According to the 2011 Indian census, 914 girls were born for every 1,000 boys. That number is worse than 2001, when the ratio was 927 to 1,000.
This statistic, the worst child sex ratio in modern Indian history, adds fuel to the already heated debate over the sex-selective abortion practice and gender inequality. India, the largest democracy in the world, is moving toward a 21st Century economy and becoming a global power while this gender issue trend suggests otherwise.
Story by Lorena Carmona | Video by Cole Miller (Photos courtesy of Ek Tara Foundation)
They don’t want fancy cars and jewels. They want running water and electricity.
They don’t want to be doctors because of the money they will make. They want to help people like themselves.
They don’t want to waste their time watching television. They want to learn about computers and become educated.
The children living in the Andrews Ganj slum in the heart of New Delhi, the capital city of the largest democracy in the world, want a brighter future for themselves and their slum.
Lata, a teacher, stands at the front of a room dimly lit by sunshine passing through. Young girls sit cross-legged on the black-and-red striped floor rug, listening to her talk about computer skills. Each young girl’s dark eyes are focused on her.
“I am a teacher because I like to educate, and I have a dream of doing something big,” Lata said.
Lata, a former child of the slums, has made her way back to the slums with help from the Ek Tara Foundation. This nongovernmental organization is designed to give impoverished children basic skills so they do not become victims of beggary or crime.
“We are giving them hope,” said Geeta Puri, chairman of the Ek Tara Foundation.
The foundation gives the children in the Andrews Ganj slum the opportunity to learn English, etiquette, vocational training and grooming. Puri said that after a week with these children, she’s able to see a difference.
The program also focuses on giving the children confidence and skills to compete with children who did not grow up in the slums.
“These children have the quality to aspire to more,” said Jaya Mehra, vice chairman of the Ek Tara Foundation. “They are very sharp children and have the will to learn. They just need the guidance.”
The founders of Ek Tara believe that education will enable children to succeed. Both women said that the children should be capable of seeking employment.
“We are working on long-term goals and not just quick fixes,” Puri said. “With the help, everyone will benefit.”
Lata directs the beauty salon program at the Andrews Ganj slum.
“She came up in a good way from a child from the slum to a teacher,” Mehra said.
She has been working with Ek Tara for eight months.
“I want to do something for myself so that I will not be dependent on anyone, not my parents or a husband,” Lata said. “This is why all of us want to be educated.”
It takes time for children to work their way out of the slums. When children go out on their own with no help or education, the temptation to stray from their original goal is everywhere. Children lose the will to learn when they have to survive on their own. Drugs and alcohol become a lure away from the life they once dreamed of.
Both Puri and Mehra, founders of Ek Tara, said the direct involvement they have with the Andrews Ganj slum has helped build a level of trust with the children in their after-school program.
Ranjit, the boy with the faded denim jeans, has to work because school is not an option for him, but he shows up at Ek Tara. The brown bandana wrapped around his head protects him from the sun’s rays.
Ranjit said he collects the money for the maintenance in the slum. The hope for more in his future inspires him.
“I want to become an engineer,” Ranjit said. “I want to do something for my brother, my family and the entire country.”
Each day these children have the urge to be more than just another slum child.
“I want to become a doctor,” said Kishan, a boy from the slum. “I will do everything for everyone here; for all these little kids, I will make sure they get into good schools and give food to everyone.”
Pooja Singh walks around the Andrews Ganj slum with her little her brother on her hip. Her orange veil blows in the wind while the droplets of sweat cover her face.
“I am scared of living here,” Singh said.
She said that things need to be changed, better living conditions and good water.
Singh, in her orange Punjabi dress, reveals her aspiration of becoming an engineer because that is what her parents want her to do.
“They shouldn’t be just a child of the slums,” Mehra said.
Additional reporting and translating by Fahad Saeed, Nuqra Naqwi, Subuhi Parvez and Saurabh Yadav.
Rani Pandey (center) and her husband Anuj (right) stand in front of their home in Anna Nagar, one of the largest slums in New Delhi. The Pandeys live on the edge of the slum, closer to the polluted water and much of the garbage. | Photo by Emily Walkenhorst
Story by Emily Walkenhorst
Inside her one-room, tin house, Rani Pandey said she resents the media, government and many nongovernmental organizations because they ask a lot of questions, but nothing ever changes.
Rani lives in Anna Nagar, one of the largest slums in New Delhi. The shack she shares with her husband and three children is near a wastewater stream on the edge of the slum.
The murky stream is a dumping ground for their trash and contributes to the slum’s odor.
“(They) just come here and ask questions and then never respond,” said Rani, who’s lived in Anna Nagar since she was 18, in Hindi. “Things are similar for the last 20 years.”
Usha Debi, 37, shuffles through a dumpster near Janpath market. Debi is a wastepicker and gathers garbage in her bag, then dumps it out on the floor of her own rented-out shack, sorts through it and sells what she can. | Photo by Emily Walkenhorst
Story by Kay Kemmet
Trash surrounds Usha Debi. Crinkled chip bags, plastic cups and piles of folded paper.
She sits in a small square building near Connaught Place, one of Delhi’s premier shopping areas.
On a side street is her workshop, her livelihood and her hell.
As she sorts through trash bags she collected from the wealthy, tourist-filled area that morning, she puts the paper in one bin and sorts through different types of plastics, from water bottles to cell phones.
Every time she moves a pile of garbage, flies swarm the room. She alternates between shooing them away and rewrapping her pale blue scarf around her face.
Debi is a soldier in an army of 150,000 waste pickers who collect garbage by hand from the streets of New Delhi and recycle discarded paper and plastics.
She doesn’t like her job. She often gets sick from working with the trash, but can never take a day off. She’s 37 years old and has been working as a trash picker since she was 12.
She performs a public service in this city of about 23 million, but Debi has to pay off a percentage of her income to bribe officials to dig through garbage.
On a good day, she earns about 300 rupees, or $6.50. But before using her earnings to support the seven children she is raising on her own, she must fork out 500 rupees, about $11, a month to bribe local policemen and give 2,000 more rupees, about $45, to her supervisor. The payment assures they won’t lock her out of the small building where she separates recyclables from trash. The leftover income helps pay her 2,000 rupees in rent.
“If the police and everybody won’t let me sit here anymore, then I’m praying to God to help me,” Debi says in Hindi from her small trash-filled room.
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