On a cold January morning in Srinagar, Tasleema Shah clutched two
thick notebooks in her hands and set out on a journey that entails
meetings with her students, one of the few things which bring her solace
and immense moral gratification. The impotent sun over the city is
cloaked under dark, snow-pregnant clouds. Temperature has plummeted
below zero. Tasleema slumps in the backseat of her school van, whizzing
past the lanes and by lanes of Shalimar locality, past Mughal Gardens,
past happy couples strolling along the Boulevard Road, past Dal Lake.
Her first stop is almost a kilometer away, at a dilapidated,
single-storied house bordered by a newly-built brick wall. A corrugated
tin-sheet nailed to a loose wooden frame acts as the main gate of the
house. Tasleema opens the gate, walks on the gravel-laden path and
knocks at the main door of the house. Suhaib Nazir, 10, one of her
students who suffers from autism, lives here.
Autism is a rare, mental disorder characterized by difficulty in
communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using
language and abstract concepts. Autistic patients grow excessive facial
hear, avoid eye contact and exhibit a delayed reaction to happenings. At
least 10 million people in India alone suffer from autism and out of
250 newborns, one is autistic. When Suhaib turned two, he would cry
endlessly, drooled and got irritated without any reason. That’s when his
father, Nazir Ahmed Rather, a government employee, showed him to a
doctor and learned that his only son suffered from autism. Suhaib was
raised with care and when time came, enrolled in a mainstream school.
But his parents felt he was neglected by teachers there. At the age of
eight years, he was enrolled in Kaunsar Special School opened by
Tasleema for differently-abled children in Shalimar locality.
A frail woman wearing a ragged tweed pheran opens the door. A smile
forms on her face when she sees Tasleema. After exchanging customary
pleasantries, the two women walk into the house. Tasleema is led into a
dimly-lit room whose walls are flaking distemper. Suhaib is sitting in a
corner. Tasleema sits to his left while to his right sits Suhaib’s
mother, Parveena, who had opened the door. Her hands seems parched and
her face has developed wrinkles. Married into a lower-middle class
family, she seems to have toiled in all these years in order to meet the
gastronomical needs of her family.
Tasleema greets Suhaib and asks him about his daily routine; brushing
teeth, bathing, breakfast and how he had spent the last day. Throughout
the conversation, Suhaib kept his head down. He initially replied in
extended hmmmms but, when pressed further, blurted out short sentences,
never more than three word long. Tasleema chides him for avoiding eye
contact, turning to his mother to investigate whether Suhaib is being
taken care of, the second purpose of Tasleema’s “home visit” besides
meeting her students. She has to ensure that her students complete the
tasks assigned to them and also leaves a fresh set of assignments before
leaving.
Suhaib has been showing tremendous improvement. His fits of rage has
come down and he talks in broken sentences. It’s a relief which his
parents had never imagined to come. They credit Tasleema for the
achievement who is one of the few persons with unfettered access to
Suhaib.
In her mid-thirties, Tasleema was born in a middle class family in
Anantnag town. Her father is a government employee while her mother is a
home-maker. Being the eldest child among the four siblings – two
sisters and two brothers – Tasleema wanted to make it big and set a
benchmark for her other siblings. She got her education at
government-run schools. At a young age after completing her 12th in arts
stream, she was married in Srinagar’s Nishat area. Just two year later,
issues started cropping up between the couple, culminating in their
divorce in 2011. She has two children from her husband; the eldest son
studies in fifth class and the second son is in third standard. She
doesn’t want to talk about her past.
“It was earth shattering experience,” Tasleema says of her marriage,
“I had died inside.” But she didn’t give up on life. She prepared
herself to face greater challenges, “I had to stand up on my own legs,
for myself and my children.”
Soon after the divorce, she frantically looked for a job. With
mediocre education, getting a job was going to be difficult but she
didn’t lose hope, “After a long struggle, I got a job in a school in
2008 as an assistant teacher. It was a school for children who required
special care.” Her interaction with the specially-abled children
inspired her and it turned into a stepping stone for her journey into
the world of social work from which she has never looked back, “I saw
these kids are actually very special. Unfortunately, in Kashmiri, we
call them maet (crazy) or malang (lunatics).”
Before she donned the robes of a social activist, Tasleema was just
like any other married woman. Her world revolved around her husband and
her in-laws. However, as things turned ugly, she got ready to face
greater challenges in her life. In the following year, she attended
various training programs conducted by Special Olympics – Bharat, an NGO
that organizes Olympic sports for people with disabilities.
“They impart special training to the teachers working with the
special kids. I also got an opportunity to take differently-abled kids
of the Valley on an eight-day program to Punjab and other states,” she
says.
In 2009, Tasleema conducted a door-to-door survey on the number of
physically challenged kids from Dal Gate to Harwan. The stretch of road
is an ideal resting place for thousands of tourists who come to holiday
among the lush-green meadows and snow-capped mountains. Tourism is a
flourishing business in Kashmir. The state government spends millions of
rupees every year to attract more tourists to the state. Over a million
came last year, brightening the financial prospects of people
associated with the industry.
“I found 130 differently-abled kids in the area. As time passed, my
emotional attachment with these kids increased and I felt I had to do
more for them,” she says.
While the JK Disablities Act, 1998, makes three percent reservation
for differently-abled children mandatory for all the private schools,
the act seems to have been thrown to the winds in the Valley. This
apathy gave Tasleema idea to come up with a special school of her own.
It wasn’t going to be easy but Tasleem was resolute and she sold her
jewelry.
“I was gifted jewelry worth INR five hundred thousand by father on my
marriage which I sold off,” Tasleema says, “and with that money I ran
the school expenses for two years.”
In the coming years, with her dedication and vision, she bought a
vehicle and necessary equipment for school purpose. She also hired a
special educator. She started with small steps and never looked back.
Her school, which started with just three students and one teacher in a
small room from Shalimar, soon became popular throughout the city.
While the schools across the region are closed for winter vacations.
Tasleema leaves her home early in the morning to know the progress made
by her students, “Have faith in Allah and take care of your children.
They will be doing fine soon, Insha Allah,” she assures one of the
parents of a differently-abled child in Dalgate.
Working for differently-abled in itself is a great cause, but working
for such kids at a place where these underprivileged kids make up a
significant part of the population makes it even nobler. The Census 2011
says that Jammu and Kashmir has a total population of around 3.76 Lakh
disabled persons, an increase of almost 69,000 persons as compared to
3.067 lakh in 2001. However, if a survey conducted by Zeba Aapa
Institute for Inclusive Education is to be believed, the total
population of differently-abled persons in J&K is 8 lakh, three
times more than the government survey.
After she finishes her ‘home visits’, Tasleema heads home, a rented
building in Shalimar, which takes 30 minutes from her last stop at Dara
in Harwan, almost 10 km from her school. Her day doesn’t end there. From
being a social worker during the day, the tired Tasleema now dons the
role of a homemaker. While she puts up a brave face in front of the
world, she feels lonely inside. Her professional life is in deep
contrast with her personal life.
Her school has 20 differently-abled kids and she has hired two
special educators and one physiotherapist. The school now operates from a
four-roomed rented building with many equipment for giving physical
strength to the students. Al-Habib Foundation, a trust registered with
the state government, meets most of the school’s expenses. The
foundation has provided various facilities as well as equipment to the
school. Tasleema says in past two years, three of her differently-abled
students were enrolled in a normal school. “It’s a big achievement for
me and my management,” she says.
Tasleema seems to be content with her efforts but she feels that the
state government should change its “lackadaisical attitude” towards such
kids. “The state government should come forward to help us,” she says,
“We were given vehicle last year by the state government but beyond
that, no help has come. Even locals do not give us space because they
think we will not be able to afford the rent.”
She feels the differently-abled children are send as a test by God
for the parents, “We must not be ashamed of them. We will be closer to
heaven if we take great care of them.”
Currently, she is pursuing her masters in social works from Indira
Gandhi National Open University. “I am doing it so that I understand
these kids better. That’s how I can connect with them effectively.”
It’s not easy to manage the school, then home visits, then kids and
then her own studies, but she doesn’t complain. “This is all
Huqooq-ul-Ibaad. I am doing this for greater reward in the world
hereafter.
Tasleema’s eldest kid is 10-years-old who often complains to her that
she loves her students more than him. “Every time he says this, I only
offer a smile in response. I believes Allah will bestow me with
‘Jannat-Ul-Firdous’,” she says.
Source: Rising Kashmir, 2nd March 2015
the film by making a donation at that site.
to such an organization? The PCI has been organizing games in the same shoddy manner ever since they were recognized by the sports ministry in 2006. In Ghaziabad, they did not even pick up the players from the railway station. For the international event scheduled to be held in Delhi in May, the Union ministry of social justice has apparently set aside a substantial sum as grant. But going by past record, players are not going to benefit from these funds," Raj said.
