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One day in the life of … SOS Children’s Village
The family called SOS
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Divya Kumar spends a day at the SOS Children’s Village, and comes back smiling
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Photo: A Muralitharan
touching a chord Glimpses of life at the village
The only sounds I hear on entering the SOS Children’s Village, Chatnath Homes in East Tambaram, on a drowsy summer morning is of birds chirping and kids playing in the distance. There’s plenty of shade from the sprawling trees on the peac
eful grounds as I set out in search of the office.
The first soul I see is a little chap zipping by on a cycle that seems rather too large for him.
“Good morning!” he greets me cheerfully, and I’m so impressed with the good manners that I almost forget to ask him for directions. When I do, he good-naturedly pauses mid-zip and shows me the way — turns out I’m just a few steps from it, actually —before disappearing around the corner.
Happy kids
I don’t realise it then, but that five-minute introduction to SOS pretty much captures what’s special about this 29-year-old home for orphan and destitute children — the tranquillity of the grounds, and the sense of happiness and security the kids radiate.
There’s a reason for that. Every one of the 136 children at SOS belongs to a family. Not in some abstract sense of the word, but an actual family, with a ‘mother’ assigned to them, and up to nine siblings, with the traditions, ties and history that it entails.
Photo: Harish Narayanan
Each family has its own ‘home’ on the five-acre grounds (there are 14 in all) — a cheerful, airy, one-level house painted in sunny shades of yellow-brown, and surrounded by a small patch of a pretty garden.
My arrival at the first home is announced in style by a tiny three-year-old, the youngest of this family, who runs in curls bobbing and yelling shrilly, “Amma, guests are coming!”.
It soon becomes clear why things are so quiet out on the grounds — I’ve come right at the start of summer holidays and the families, moms and kids alike, are enjoying a break from their usual hectic schedule in the surprising coolness of their home.
“Usually, I’m up by 4:30 or 5 a.m., making and packing their tiffin, plaiting their hair and getting them ready for school by 8:15 a.m.,” explains Lata, who’s been the mother of this home for the last seven years (after a three-year training period).
Today, she, along with Tulasi (who’s absolutely at leisure after having just finished Class X), nine-year-old Rukesh and 12-year-old Chandan, are playing a relaxed game of dayam on the smooth stone floor of the sparsely-furnished but spotlessly clean three-bedroom house, having finished all their chores.
As I sit with them, the little tyke, Arundhati, shows me a picture of herself in a sari in the family’s photo album, 16-year-old Lakshmi is introduced to me as the artist of the house, and Lata proudly tells me about her ‘grandchildren’ in Mumbai, the children of one of the older girls who’s now married.
Like all the other 14 houses, this one too has a board in the drawing room with photographs of the important moments — birthdays, outings, weddings — and of children who’ve moved away, creating a touching sense of continuity in the lives of these children.
“Even if their mother retires, the house remains the parental home for every child who’s passed through it,” says Nalini Rajenderan, one of the four social workers who lives on the grounds, overseeing the welfare of the mothers and children, right down to arranging marriages for the older kids.
Helping them is the staff of about 40 — office, maintenance and medical workers, as well as teachers who leave by evening.
Outside, some kids are still at work. A little girl who’s carefully watering the plants outside her house wishes me “Good afternoon!” (I’m a little less gob smacked this time), and Meenakshi and Aishwarya, who’re going to Class XII have just gotten back from coaching classes at the nearby Christ King School (unlike the young kids, who attend the little white-washed primary school on the grounds, the older kids have to walk/cycle down to their respective neighbourhood schools everyday).
Photo: Harish Narayanan
Still, the general air on the grounds is of idyllic summer fun as the day turns to evening.
Groups of girls walk hand in hand or huddle together in shady nooks, chatting. And, my little lone cyclist now has plenty of company in the large group of squealing kids racing each other up and down the ground. Soon, it’ll be time for their evening prayers and then dinner, but for now, they’re enjoying summer holidays as only children can.
As I get into my car, I’m seen off by the soft-spoken Rukesh who has his nose pressed to my window.
“When will you come again?” he asks me earnestly.
I don’t know the answer for sure, but I mean it with all my heart when I tell him, “Soon.”
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