For children of the Kaadar community in the Western Ghats, getting an education means leaving home at the age of six to stay at residential schools.
Deep in the jungles of the Western Ghats near Valparai, over a 100 km from Coimbatore, is the small tribal hamlet of Udumanparai. The inhabitants of the village, the Kaadar community, live in literal isolation, largely ignored by the State. However, they are determined that their children should get proper education at any cost.

“We cannot afford to compromise on education, especially in these times,” says Kamaraj, a tea estate worker and young father of two. His older child is away at boarding school but the younger one, Kasturi, 8, is at home because she is ill. But she happily plays in a stream nearby. “She has to go back to school on Sunday evening. How will she recover if she plays in the water,” he asks, as he keeps calling her to come in. When Kasturi does come, she makes sure to snuggle up to her grandmother to avoid getting scolded by her father. At his prompting, she begins to pack for school, spending an extra bit of time showing off a yellow frock she got from school. “They gave this to me in school before Deepavali. This is my favourite dress. I will wear it next Sunday,” she says.

From Mr. Kamaraj’s house, it takes more than an hour’s walk through the rubble-filled and rough pathways inside tea estates, followed by a 45-minute drive to reach Valparai, where the Nesam Trust-Sarva Siksha Abhiyan Residential School for Tribal Children is located. Kasturi, her 10-year-old brother Yuvaraj, and almost all other children of Udumanparai are enrolled in that school.

With no school in the hamlet, its residents have to choose between the Nesam Trust’s school and the Government Tribal Residential Middle School, also in Valparai, to enrol their children when they turn six. Almost all residents prefer the Trust school, says Mallika, a resident, “because the government school does not treat the children well and does not have facilities.”

The children come home only thrice a year — 20 days during the summer vacation in May and four days each during Deepavali and Pongal. Parents are allowed to visit their children on weekends.

Kasturi enjoys going to school though. “I have friends, I have toys, swings and we also get tasty food there,” she says. At the school, the children learn maths, science, English and social studies, and attend vocational training classes. On weekends, they wear their best outfits and spend the day playing or completing their homework. “Mostly we only play,” she giggles.

Mr. Kamaraj however looks glum as he watches her pack. “She came home for four days during Deepavali, and then we had to bring her back again because she fell ill. I don’t feel like sending her, but we have no option. Also, she likes it more there,” he says, gently boxing her head, even as Kasturi nods cheerfully.

“Often, once a child goes home, parents do not let them return. When we try to get them back, the children run and hide in the forest. So we have to tighten the rules, mainly for their benefit,” says Senthil Kumar, chairman of the Nesam Trust school. He adds that most of the children are bright and show great interest in extracurricular activities. Many of them seem to want to become Indian Forest Service officers or do social work to help their people, he says. “With the right guidance, they will excel,” he adds.

However, for the Kaadars, separation from their children at an early age and for prolonged periods is painful. “I wish there were better educational facilities in the hamlets. It’s very difficult to be away from our children,” says S. Sasikala, an anganwadi teacher and a resident of Nedungundram, another Kaadar hamlet, which takes an hour’s drive plus an hour’s walk to get to.

Unlike Udumanparai, Nedungundram has a single teacher government primary school. Though set up barely five years ago, the building is dilapidated, the walls are damp and it does not have power connection.

“The students are still stuck in the basics,” says Aishwarya, whose seven-year-old daughter was studying in the school but was later moved to the Nesam Trust school. “My husband and I had a huge fight over this. I didn’t want to send her away to the hostel because she is so young and needs me. But I finally gave in, else she too would have become a drop-out like me,” she says.

The residents want the government to develop an alternative approach so they can watch their children grow up. Their suggestion: appoint educators who will live and teach in the hamlet on weekdays, and simultaneously train graduates from the community, who could in due course take up the job. “In any ordinary family, a child is taken care of by parents and family members at least till age 10. But the moment our child turns six, we have to send them away,” Ms. Aishwarya says.

Fr. K.J. Kumar, director, Social Watch-Tamil Nadu, an organisation that works for the welfare of tribal children, shares this view. Training should be provided to members of the community, and primary schooling could be made an extension of the anganwadi centre by building an extra classroom with common facilities like kitchen, play area and washrooms. And till such a facility is set up, transport arrangements must be made for the children free of charge, he says.

A house in Nedungundram is the anganwadi from where Ms. Sasikala teaches five children below the age of five. While she enjoys teaching and playing with the children, a lot of her time is spent figuring out how to purchase supplies. She receives ₹100 every month from the government, which she uses to buy dal, vegetables and condiments for the children. “But when prices increase, I need to pay from my own pocket. I also need to pay for the transport of the goods,” she says.

An official of the Forest Department says it is difficult to maintain schools in the tribal hamlets as teachers fear going there due to animal movement. As an example, he cites the instance of a primary school in Kallar settlement, another Kaadar hamlet, 6 km from the main road, which was shut down due to similar reasons. “The school had only one teacher and one student, it was in a precarious location. But it had to be closed down, also because most parents did not want to send their children to schools,” the official says.

Lack of schools is one of the many issues the Kaadars face. The lack of proper roads, electricity, health care facilities and prenatal care for pregnant women are complaints that crop up.

“Ambulances cannot come here because there are no roads. It is especially difficult for pregnant woman,” says Radha of Udumanparai, recalling an incident when her friend, who was eight months pregnant, had to be carried in a cradle for six kilometres to the nearest hospital.

“The path we take is so narrow that even one wrong step could cause serious injury, or even death,” she says, pointing to a deep valley where a river flows.

The lack of roads also affects the old who no longer can walk an hour to get their monthly old age pension. “Officials from the forest department used to deliver it to us before, but now, since the money is deposited in our bank accounts, we need to go to Valparai every time to affix our signature and get our money. I haven’t been able to get my last month’s due since I’m not able to walk,” says 70-year-old Srinivasan of Udumanparai.

Mr. Srinivasan and other residents continue to live in darkness. Ten years ago, the local authorities set up two solar panels in the area, but they didn’t last. The residents do not have the money to repair it.

A recent study carried out by Social Watch says that the population of Kaadars in Tamil Nadu is nearly 600, all of whom live in the forests of Valparai, in six hamlets. Another 600 members of the community live in Kerala. Most of them work as marginal farmers, they also work in tea estates and as daily wage labourers and earn around ₹5,000 a month. So far, only four members of the community have managed to graduate — three of them are women. One is pursuing her post-graduation in Social Work.

“It has never been easy for us and it is a big thing that these children have even gone that far to live their dreams,” says 84-year-old K. Ganesan, one of the oldest members of the community. Mr. Ganesan recalls a time when they were more in harmony with their surroundings. “We were a self-sufficient lot. We grew ragi (a millet) and cholam (corn). But since the State’s policies changed, we had to stop our agricultural practices and our food habits have changed. Now we depend on ration shops, and keep falling sick,” he says.

Recently, the community was asked to relocate to the plains as part of the Central government-funded Project Tiger, aimed at creating safe spaces and protecting wildlife species. “They bluntly refused. They say that the forest is their home and as long as they live here, nothing would happen to the wildlife,” says a forest official.

Mr. Ganesan emphatically agrees. “We worship this forest. The moment we leave, the entire area will be exposed to outsiders and poachers. We will live here and guard it till our last breath,” he says.

This story was done as part of SAWM India – UNICEF Fellowship

Source: thehindu.com

MUMBAI: Monika Mehtu’s petite frame gives away little about the feisty 13-year-old hiding inside. Earlier this year, the teenager from the Bhula village of east Singhbhum district in Jharkhand, and six of her friends, prevented the marriage of a classmate by intervening with the girl’s family and even threatening of police action when nothing seemed to work.
“At 13, a girl’s body is not ready to bear a child or take the responsibility of a household,” Mehtu, a seventh standard student, says with confidence. She recalled the day her classmate Sarita confided in her with tears that her schooling days were numbered. It was unacceptable to Mehtu.
An active member of the UNICEF’s ‘bal patrakar’ initiative in 60 blocks of east Singhbhum, Mehtu was well-aware now that child marriage was a crime that could attract the facilitators a punishment of two years. “I gathered my friends and directly marched into her house. We began with explaining the mother how early pregnancy could be potentially fatal to a young girl. Our final weapon was to tell them that we won’t hesitate to call the police,” she said. After three visits, she roped in her teacher Jagdish Prasad Mandal. Sarita’s parents finally gave in.
Damodarpur, a medium size village located in Boram district of east Singhbhum, with a total of 213 families, has not seen a single child marriage in the recent times. Mandal declares with pride, “More than 60% of my students at the Damodarpur Upgraded Middle School are girls and the drop-out rate is close to nil.” Village Pradhan Ashwini Singh said the credit for preventing early marriages and helping girls finish school goes to programmes such as bal patrakar that has been running hand-in-hand with the state’s broader initiative called ‘bal sansad’ or children’s parliament.
Pioneered in Jharkhand schools around 2012, the unique way to teach children about the democratic processes, has now been adopted across the country. The team of bal sansads is led by a ‘prime minister’, who heads the cabinet ministers, all elected by students. The programme, Mandal says, has groomed children to become expressive. “It has brought about leadership, communication skills and the sense to differentiate between right and wrong,” the teacher said. A key task of the sansads is to prevent drop-outs, high among adivasis and Dalits, and bring children back to classrooms by directly engaging with families. Jharkhand that has the third highest rate of child marriage in India, after Rajasthan and Bihar, is waging a complex social battle with children now at its forefront.
Less than 30 kilometres from Damodarpur and 12kms from Jamshedpur is a village called Punsa, where the students with the help of their teachers, prevented two child marriages in February this year. In the midst of writing her exam, Mali Singh (13), was summoned home by her mother. The 7th standard student, dashed from school only to find that the emergency was to serve tea to a group of visitors. Next, she was being paraded in front of potential suitors. One of the bal patrakars of Upgraded Middle School at Kolabani, Mali immediately brought it to the notice of her teacher Pradip Kumar, whose intervention halted things. He said, “The children have become our eyes and ears. They don’t hesitate to bring information about any child marriage being planned in their vicinity, or to confront families”.

Source:  The Times of India

She had to quit school five years ago when she was in Class VI to help the family deal with medical expenses of her ailing mother.

Seboti Pahariya has to wait till January to rejoin school. The 17-year-old has waited five years already.

Its the middle of the school session in Assam and Seboti will join Class VII. She had to quit school five years ago when she was in Class VI to help the family deal with medical expenses of her ailing mother.

Born and raised in Amguri, 110 km from Dibrugarh, she is from a family of tea garden workers. A bindi sparkling on her forehead, red kurta with jeans and a yellow dupatta thrown casually around her neck, she made her intentions clear: “I want to study and then I want to teach.”

In 2015, her mother passed away after a long battle with mental illness that Seboti is unable to name. Soon after, her father passed away of diarrhoea.

The youngest of five siblings, she shared the responsibility of running the household with her brother, Maniram Pahariya (22) and sister-in-law Mira. Her older sisters are married and have moved out.

Seboti wakes up by 6 am, helps out with household chores, reaches the tea estate by 8 am and plucks leaves till 5 pm. She earns Rs 800 every week and hands that to her brother.

But in February this year, she joined the anganwadi in Amguri block and began interacting with others her age. She learnt about nutrition and hygiene. During weekly sessions, she came in contact with the NGO Nava Udit Samaj that works with the district administration in the block. “I learnt for the first time that as a child I have rights. I learnt about the importance of education,” she said. Her family always saw education from the expense point-of-view and did not see the value in educating the girls, Seboti said.

Her parents were unlettered and her brother is the most educated in the house, having finished Class XII.

“The subject of my marriage was brought up but with the help of the anganwari workers I was able to convince my brother to hold it off,” she said.

NGOs point to varying statistics about the declining number of child marriages in tea gardens. Reducing child marriage and teen pregnancy forms a key part of UNICEF’s adolescent project in the district.

At the anganwadi centre every Saturday, Seboti has recently undergone “folklore” training.

Young adults in the block were taught lessons of social importance through songs and dance in their own language and then encouraged to create their own. So while some penned songs about drug de-addiction and child marriage, Seboti wrote about what she missed most — school — in the Chhadri dialect spoken by tea garden workers of Assam.

At a recent talent show at the centre, she performed this song. “My friend’s father, who does not allow her to go to school, said he will allow her after he heard my song,” she said, her pride evident.

She writes about things too, her mother’s illness, her future, her village. The farthest she has been from her house, is the district centre at Sibsagar, about 30 km from home.

“One of the main reasons girls drop out of schools is the violence at home,” she said. “There was violence at home as well when my brother used to drink but after attending sessions at the anganwari I came back and told him about the affects of alcohol and how it was affecting our household.”

The Deputy Commissioner, Sivasagar, collaborated with UNICEF to conceptualise and implement the project on adolescent empowerment.

The overall goal of this project is to improve the lives of adolescents in five blocks of Sivasagar by increasing the autonomy that adolescent boys and girls have over decisions affecting their lives.

Seboti, and 24 other girls are part of this project and are finding their feet as they learn more about their bodies and their environment. In her own words, “I was fearful and did not understand my desires or a life other than that at home. I am now more confident, and I try and encourage those who come in contact with me to speak up as well.”

Till she rejoins school, Seboti will continue to write for Mukto Aakaash (an NGO-run adolescent newspaper).

Source: indianexpress.com

Married girls aged 15-19 years are twice more likely to die during childbirth, UNICEF reports.

Sarita, 15, and her friend Mali, 14, are nothing short of stars at the middle school in Punsa village, about 25 km from the steel hub of Jamshedpur, in Jharkhand. Earlier this year, the two stopped their families from getting them married off — with a little help from “Pradeep sir”, their teacher Pradeep Kumar.

They went to each other’s homes, along with fellow students and Kumar, and successfully convinced their families in calling off the wedding plans.

In a state with the highest child marriage rate in India after Rajasthan and Bihar, according to Annual Health Survey, 2010-2011, and where child marriage among girls is as high as 44 per cent in rural areas and 21 per cent in urban centres, as National Family Health Survey 2015-2016 reported, it is a huge victory. And leading that fight is Pradeep, a lean, soft-spoken, bespectacled and balding teacher with his ‘army’ of students.

Stating that child marriage has gradually declined in areas around Jamshedpur, although stray cases still emerge, Kumar said, “When students such as Mali and Sarita bring cases to my notice I take a group of students to talk the parents out of marrying off their minor children.”

The shock fell on Mali in February this year, when her sister called her home from school. February is the harvest season, when most marriages are fixed in villages of their East Singhbhum, and neighbouring districts of eastern Jharkhand.

“There were guests at home I had never met. My mother asked me to serve them tea. I wondered why…. I was later told that I would be married into the family,” the class VIII student said.

Mali told her friend Sarita, who informed their teacher. “Pradeep-sir took some of us (students) and met Mali’s parents. He told them that child marriage is a punishable crime; we said leaving school for marriage would ruin Mali’s childhood,” Sarita said.

Besides, she added, “we told them that a child bride runs many medical risks, including death during early pregnancies.”

Sarita and her young friends know their facts. According to UNICEF data, babies of child brides are 60 per cent more likely to die before their first birthday than children of mothers who are over 19 years. Married girls aged 15-19 years are twice more likely to die during childbirth, UNICEF reports.

Within weeks, Sarita found that her parents were planning her wedding as well. Kumar, and his students, including Mali, this time went to Sarita’s home and told her elder brother Vibhishan, a former student of Kumar’s, about her predicament.

“Vibhishan never disobeys me, although he is no longer my student,” Kumar said. “After I convinced him that an educated Sarita would not only be biologically fit to marry and conceive after she is 18 but that she also stands a better chance to get a more educated and suitable groom, he spoke to his parents and convinced them.”

Imtiaz Ahmed, block development officer of Boram and also the child marriage provisional officer for the block, said while child marriage is gradually declining in areas around Jamshedpur, they still get the odd cases. “Usually we are successful in holding panchayats and dissuading (the families). But when we get a tip-off at the last moment — barely hours before the scheduled marriage — and face resistance from families, we have to register FIRs,” said Ahmed.

Back at the school, as Mali said that says she wants to be a teacher, since all village schools do not have adequate teachers, Pradeep Kumar said, “We get to know when anyone is upset in class — that’s how Sarita and Mali’s predicament was discovered. They are brave girls, and we will always support their education and help them follow their dreams.”

Child Welfare Committee chairperson Prabha Jaiswal said, “We have made the Child Marriage Prohibition Act but child marriage enjoys such social acceptance that no law or action can abate this menace. When we go to stop a marriage we are threatened and asked to back off. An attitude change is required before this social ill can be rooted out completely.”

Source: indianexpress.com

Early in the morning, when most adolescents his age are in deep slumber, 16-year-old Roshan Singh starts pedalling to a nearby field. A tee and shorts and a pair of worn out shoes is all that he carries to warm up and begin his ‘untrained’ fitness regime. He jogs, skips, runs and stretches during a rigorous one-hour schedule.

Aware that a fitness regime alone doesn’t give him stamina to pursue the game and that he needs good food and training to excel in the game, he has no option, neither does he have complaints. He has made truce with destiny – to live life the way it comes to him since he cannot change the circumstances back home at this tender age. Meet Roshan Singh, from district headquarters town Bolangir, who was the 2015 sub-junior state champion in badminton. A magic to watch out for in the courts, his technique of playing – not many his age can beat, he attributes to have learnt from Youtube channels.

Born to a family of six that sustains by selling Gupchup (a street snack), Roshan Singh has, for the time being, left his dreams remain dreams only. For someone, who doesn’t have a glass of milk, let alone nutritious sports drink required for an emerging sportsperson, thinking about anything else does not hold any meaning. He doesn’t have a racquet to play the game but one of his friends has been kind enough to lend one for his daily practice.

“I had bought a racquet saving from my pocket money before my championships in 2015 but the gut strings have been damaged and now only the frame head remains. Neither can I get it repaired nor do I have the money to buy another one. Championships are ahead but I’m not worried because there is little I can do at this age,’’ says Roshan while practicing at the Rajendra Indoor stadium in the town.

The stadium is shabby to say the least, with hardly any cleanliness carried out since ages, has lighting issues with just one court, and doesn’t have an accredited trainer to coach the talents plus floors are in dilapidated condition. And all this despite the fact that Bolangir is known as the badminton cradle of Odisha that has produced some of the best talents in the game. ‘’I have mostly learnt the game by watching my seniors play. There are no coaches nor anyone to give us the tricks of the trade,’’ says Roshan who looks up to Chinese Malaysian player Lee Chong Wei as his role model besides naming one or two seniors he practices with.

Roshan is equally good at academics and is presently pursuing Plus Two first year commerce in Rajendra College, Bolangir. He had secured 9.4 CGPA in his 10th CBSE board exams. However, studies have never fascinated him as much as sports.

But his talent in all kinds of sports, particularly badminton, was also a surprise for his family. ‘’It was only after he won the sub-junior state championships that we got to know from friends and relatives that he got a rousing reception at Bolangir railway station when he returned to town after winning. We always knew he played the game as he used to play chess and other games. But we never knew he would become a state champion. Because he is mostly silent at home and doesn’t talk much,’’ says Roshan’s sister.

After morning practice, he leaves for college but is soon back at home to lend a helping hand to his father and others in family, all of whom get busy in preparing for the evening eatery stall. Earning Rs 500 every day, the family of six, faces hardships each passing day. ‘’Roshan’s achievement has made us all proud but we feel bad that we have not been able to provide him basic requirements of the game as it’s very expensive. We stay in rented house and pay Rs 5000 as rent, the rest is all spent in managing food and basic necessities. We hope he gets some support from somewhere to go farther in the game and makes the nation proud,’’ say his parents with a heavy heart.

Soon after helping the family, Roshan leaves for his practice to the stadium that has still not been taken over by the sports department even after years of its completion. Despite issues bogging the place, none of the officials has paid any attention to improve things for players of the place. Managing sufficient shuttlecock for the players is also a problem, sources said.

But Roshan reaches there sharp at 2 pm, warms up and soon wears his torn shoes and holds his ‘borrowed’ racquet to begin the game. It’s nothing less than magic to see the finesse with which the young player, who has never been formally trained in the game, sways to every kind of shot – plays forehand, backhand and leaves no opportunity to smash.

“As long as my friend supports me in just providing a racquet to practice, I have no problem. But I would also like to have proper shoes and at least one racquet to practice,’’ says Roshan with a feeling of remorse in his voice.

“He would be the star to look out for in 2019 but he needs to prepare for that. Right now he has been a little laid back with not much vigour and stamina. Neither is food being taken care of, nor does he have proper sports discipline to follow. Infrastructure is too poor with only one court to practice for all players,’’ says the district badminton association secretary Suru Matari.

As soon as the clock strikes 6 pm, Roshan cycles back to daily market to help his father serve Gupchup to all customers in the same gear that he practiced in. Equally deft at serving different varieties of Gupchup to customers, Roshan helps his father till the rush reduces.

“I have many things at heart, but my family’s financial condition doesn’t allow me to even think or share. Because I know no one can share my problems or solve them. So I have left everything on destiny. I will take a day at a time and not think about future,’’ he signs off while cycling back home.

Given the situation, Roshan lives in and constraints that hit him, unless some help pours in, the emerging sports talent will cease to be a face in the crowd.

Source: odishatv.in

HYDERABAD: For six years, 17-year-old N Mamatha’s world has been limited to the view from her bed: a kitchen nook and the TV set. Barring one-off visits to her physiotherapist or the church, she never leaves the tiny two bedroom flat in a Saroornagar slum. Mamatha is one of many persons with disabilities who have been confined to their homes due to gaps in services and want of a barrier-free environment.

Mamatha was an able-bodied child till the age of 12 when her neck spasmed. Her parents —N Mahender and Ramulamma—did not pay much heed. But her condition worsened, weakening her limbs. Mahender, who works as a daily wage labourer, says the family sold jewellery and spent at least Rs 2 lakh on her treatment at private hospitals, but in vain.

She continued to go to a private school until she had a fall. She gave up then, says her mother Ramulamma, who works for the Greater Hyderabad Municipal Corporation as a contract sanitary staff, earning Rs 12,000 a month. Since then, Mamatha has stayed at home, with her parents balancing work and caregiving.

“If both of us don’t work we will starve. My wife cannot take a day off. Her salary helps us run the home. I get work on and off,” says Mahender. Two years ago, the Telangana Disabled Welfare Department certified Mamatha with an 88 per cent locomotor/orthopedic disability under the Software for Assessment of Disabled for Access, Rehabilitation and Empowerment initiative. The family gets a monthly disability allowance of Rs 1,500 that pays for her medications.

Gaps in support

Experts working with children with disabilities (CWDs) stress the need for early intervention. In Mamatha’s case, timely intervention could have prevented her condition from worsening, they say. The Rashtriya Bal Swasthya Karyakram, under National Health Mission was only initiated 2013 for early intervention to provide comprehensive care and screening of children with mobile health teams.

However, Anganwadi workers are not trained specifically to do this. With limited external support and awareness, the burden of caregiving on the family is high. “She cannot be left unattended for a moment… We cannot socialise or attend any family or colony gatherings. Mobility is a major issue and then we have to listen to people calling us incapable of providing her care,” says Mahender.

Experts say the lack of awareness among parents of CWDs stems from self- isolation due to the stigma attached to disability. This puts stress family relations, as can be seen in Mamatha’s home. Frustrated, her parents often lash out at her and Mamatha, herself, is moody and prone to hurling abuses. The only other support available is weekly physiotherapy sessions conducted by a not-for profit called Commitments.

The sessions also work as a platform for caregivers to interact but Mamatha’s parents have stopped going. “We have started going to the church every Sunday. There could be hope there,” said Ramulamma. “Most times, there is no cure. But caregivers often don’t want to believe that. If there are support groups, they can share experiences and resources which will help guide them how to manage,” observed Jayanti Sundar Rajan, consultant psychologist with Roshni Counselling Centre.

Persons with disabilities often end up trapped in a vicious cycle of illiteracy and poverty, mainly because schools are not inclusive and barrier-free. Under the Sarva Siksha Abhiyaan more than 15,000 schools in Telangana are reportedly barrier-free. Since the state’s formation in 2014, all Kasturba Gandhi Balika Vidyalayas have been made inclusive, but only for hearing impaired and visually challenged. Mamatha has not been able to access even home-based services such as like the Home Based Education Programme (HBEP) under SSA.

Under this, special educators visit homes every Saturday and teach life skills. These skills are designed after a baseline assessment of the child. They also provide counselling and training to parents. The children are later mainstreamed. The same educators teach at special schools called Bhavitha Centres or in regular schools.

However, in Telangana, of the 1134 sanctioned posts for special educators, only 860 have been filled. Officials from the Education Department claim recruitment process has been initiated. They claim 70,000 CWDs have been identified, of which 40 per cent avail facilities directly. Others have access to camps set up in mandals.

Suresh Gutta, a certified special educator, says this approach is not up to the mark and CWDs are being denied of basic entitlements. “The finer aspects of detecting a disability are not considered. To analyse a child’s condition, even the software needs an expert to review it. But these are often done in a minute.”
Lack of training to identify CWDs under the Integrated Child Development Scheme is an added problem. Also, inclusive education is not implemented as it should be. “First, to bring a child to a school, it has to be barrier free. Then, it is important they be treated like any other child. Teachers often see them as a burden, rather than looking at ways to work with these children,” he says.

A day in her life

Mamatha starts her day at 9am. She takes small, careful steps to the back door to brush her teeth while her father watches lest she fall. He serves her the breakfast her mother cooks before leaving for work. She manages to go to the bathroom herself and helps her father with small household chores. She watches TV till her mother returns from work in the afternoon and gives her a bath. She needs her mother’s help to maintain menstrual hygiene.

Gutta feels that Mamatha’s life could be improved, with some support. Attempts to equip her with livelihood skills which could also help her have her own family should be initiated, he suggested. This is something that weighs on Mamatha’s parents. “I will be by her side for a few years, but what after? I insist she does small jobs on her own, but she is hesitant and gets abusive. It is only getting harder by the day,” shares Ramulamma tearing up.

Mamatha’s dependence on her parents and younger brother has made the atmosphere at home bitter. On several occasions they considered sending her to a hostel or getting her married off. Mamatha, who blushed at the talk of marriage, brushed it aside screaming, “I don’t want to go anywhere.” Once she attains marriageable age, she can avail Rs 50,000 if she marries another disabled person, an entitlement provided by the Disabled Welfare department. For now, it is the kitchen nook, and TV set for Mamatha and god and a miracle for her parents.
(This story is part of an initiative by the South Asian Women in Media and UNICEF to highlight the issues of adolescents.)

Source: The New Indian Express