uday
May 26th, 2003, 12:03 PM
Yesterday ZEE TV broadcast it for 20mnts.......
We require "MORE" such INITIATER, CREATER required in our community rather then writing....!!!!!
Brief. Description of Mr. Virender Singh:--
An textile engg. worked in USA for more then 20 yrs... came back to INDIA... In his vision.. educate Girls... girls are the core member of a family..educate a girl ( who will be a mother later) means educating whole family...As per him 15% of India poulation is known as Elite and rest 85% of Indians are in Non elite category... His mission is to make India a developed country and he is doing right job in right direction.
**********************
Freedom at large
Radhika Sachdev
14-year old Nasreen Bano is a resident of Bichola, a small hamlet in Tehsil Anupshahr, District Bulandshahr, about one-and-a-half hour's drive from Delhi. Three years ago, by a strange providence — of perhaps destiny — her widowed mother decided to put Nasreen in school. The step was bold, not merely because Nasreen is a girl, but also because the mother had decided to send Nasreen to a unique institution called the Pardada-Pardadi Vocational School.
The school caters only to girls between the ages of 12 to 17. Here, they learn a handicraft skill (appliqué, hand embroidery, tailoring or the traditional Aari work that Bulandshahr is famous for) between 8.30 a.m. to 12 p.m., and for the rest of the day, they study Hindi, English, Maths, Science and other subjects.
The school charges no fee. In fact, it doles out a scholarship of Rs. 10 per day and three meals (breakfast, lunch and evening snacks) to every girl, besides two pairs of olive green and yellow salwar-kameezes, which is the prescribed school uniform. The girls also get free, weekly medical check-ups from a (lady) doctor from Ghaziabad, who explains personal hygiene to them. The raw material for the needlework are all provided by the school.
If the student has completed six months in school, she gets a bicycle on instalment, the amount gradually recovered from her scholarship amount. The school has seven teachers (from Tamil Nadu, Kerela and Rampur) to impart various vocational skills. But everything else — cooking, cleaning, sweeping and washing — is handled by the girls. Admission is open to everybody, regardless of caste or creed, but with the following riders:
The Rs. 10 per day that the girl earns as scholarship is not to be handed over to her parents. Instead, it is put into a savings account at Allahabad Bank and the student can withdraw it only when she turns 21.
There is a tacit understanding with the parents that they will not attempt to marry off the girl before she turns 21, which is when the school will put out a matrimonial advertisement for her, shortlist prospective grooms and then, let the girl and her parents make the final selection
Girls of all castes: Brahmins, Jatavs, Balmikis (untouchables) and Muslims, study, work, cook and eat together. There is no concept of social ostracism.
There are no exceptions for anyone on the discipline and sanitation front. The girls are made to follow every rule and regulation in the book, "as civilised societies do," in the words of 'Boss Sir', the girls' affectionate epithet for Virendra Singh, alias Sam, the brains behind the project. Absenteeism is frowned upon. There are cash incentives for every girl who doesn't avail of her annual paid leave of 14 days. Rajbala Pal, who won Rs. 60 on the Republic Day Parade for missing only eight days of school last year, requested that even this amount be deposited in her bank account — obviously, the habit of thrift has already been ingrained in her
A student's take-away from the school when she turns 21 is:
Rs one lakh in the bank account as personal savings
A certificate of matriculation
A vocational skill that can fetch an earning of Rs. 80-100 per day, if not more an assurance from the school that they will sell her produce.
Sam's niece, Madhu Singh, handles the marketing. Besides setting high quality standards for the girls, she also suggests the designs, fetches raw material at wholesale prices from Delhi's Chandani Chowk market et al. Last year, a team from NOVICA, the commercial arm of the National Geographic, visited the school, while this year, Pardada-Pardadi is exhibiting the girls' products at three different exhibitions in Paris, Mauritius and Cape Town. "The orders are plenty; this year, we have also hired two designers from NIFT. But right now, we are able to cater only to the domestic market," informs Singh. Incidentally, the World Bank and US Aid have also evinced interest in the project.
"With just 155 girls, the majority young and raw, who have never tried their hand at stitching before, what more can you expect? But we are in no hurry," informs Sam. As of now, he is busy with the building of a firm foundation for his project. He shells out Rs. 30 lakh per year from his Trust towards the school's running expenses, besides Rs. 22 lakh for the upkeep of the building — a new one is coming up in three months time. This will increase the student strength from 155 to 355. The returns are barely Rs. 3 lakh per annum but Sam is not worried. He hopes to break even in three-four years. Then he would be ready to replicate the experiment, "In at least a hundred other villages."
Meanwhile, the school is a self-contained unit. The wheat, rice and vegetables for the kitchen are grown on the surrounding land, owned by the Singh family and looked after by one of Sam's nephews. There are no plans to add a residential facility, as Sam feels this will alienate the girls from their families. "I want them to be able to go back to their roots and influence a change there. Maybe, run such schools in their villages."
"Last year, we received 700 applications including a couple from the parents of two polio-afflicted girls. This year, we expect the number to cross 1,000," informs Singh. The Singh family's mode of selection is very simple. They distribute handbills, address public meetings at temples, mosques, Jatav and Muslim colonies and meet the village Sarpanch. Not being used to such a disciplined life, the dropout rate from the school was huge (45% in 2000 and 41% in 2001). Last year, it stabilised at 16%.
Imrana Shah (17), a dropout of last year, says she is ready to come back. Pinki Singh (15), an orphan, whose uncle and aunt pulled her out of the school, hopes 'Boss Sir' will be able to convince her relatives. Sauraj Singh Tomar, the father of two little girls says, "I am happy with the facilities but wish my daughters were getting Rs. 15, instead of Rs. 10 per day." Champa Devi, a 30-year old mother says, "I am happy. Usha Kumari (her daughter) would otherwise have been cutting-grass in the village." Shajan Jose, the Keralite school Principal laments, "The one problem I face is that everybody has a problem." However, mention of their passbook lights up the girls' faces. Fishing it out of their satchels, they'll instantly shove it under your nose for close inspection. Another aspect of their school life, which they love, is the smattering of English that they've picked up from their teachers.
We require "MORE" such INITIATER, CREATER required in our community rather then writing....!!!!!
Brief. Description of Mr. Virender Singh:--
An textile engg. worked in USA for more then 20 yrs... came back to INDIA... In his vision.. educate Girls... girls are the core member of a family..educate a girl ( who will be a mother later) means educating whole family...As per him 15% of India poulation is known as Elite and rest 85% of Indians are in Non elite category... His mission is to make India a developed country and he is doing right job in right direction.
**********************
Freedom at large
Radhika Sachdev
14-year old Nasreen Bano is a resident of Bichola, a small hamlet in Tehsil Anupshahr, District Bulandshahr, about one-and-a-half hour's drive from Delhi. Three years ago, by a strange providence — of perhaps destiny — her widowed mother decided to put Nasreen in school. The step was bold, not merely because Nasreen is a girl, but also because the mother had decided to send Nasreen to a unique institution called the Pardada-Pardadi Vocational School.
The school caters only to girls between the ages of 12 to 17. Here, they learn a handicraft skill (appliqué, hand embroidery, tailoring or the traditional Aari work that Bulandshahr is famous for) between 8.30 a.m. to 12 p.m., and for the rest of the day, they study Hindi, English, Maths, Science and other subjects.
The school charges no fee. In fact, it doles out a scholarship of Rs. 10 per day and three meals (breakfast, lunch and evening snacks) to every girl, besides two pairs of olive green and yellow salwar-kameezes, which is the prescribed school uniform. The girls also get free, weekly medical check-ups from a (lady) doctor from Ghaziabad, who explains personal hygiene to them. The raw material for the needlework are all provided by the school.
If the student has completed six months in school, she gets a bicycle on instalment, the amount gradually recovered from her scholarship amount. The school has seven teachers (from Tamil Nadu, Kerela and Rampur) to impart various vocational skills. But everything else — cooking, cleaning, sweeping and washing — is handled by the girls. Admission is open to everybody, regardless of caste or creed, but with the following riders:
The Rs. 10 per day that the girl earns as scholarship is not to be handed over to her parents. Instead, it is put into a savings account at Allahabad Bank and the student can withdraw it only when she turns 21.
There is a tacit understanding with the parents that they will not attempt to marry off the girl before she turns 21, which is when the school will put out a matrimonial advertisement for her, shortlist prospective grooms and then, let the girl and her parents make the final selection
Girls of all castes: Brahmins, Jatavs, Balmikis (untouchables) and Muslims, study, work, cook and eat together. There is no concept of social ostracism.
There are no exceptions for anyone on the discipline and sanitation front. The girls are made to follow every rule and regulation in the book, "as civilised societies do," in the words of 'Boss Sir', the girls' affectionate epithet for Virendra Singh, alias Sam, the brains behind the project. Absenteeism is frowned upon. There are cash incentives for every girl who doesn't avail of her annual paid leave of 14 days. Rajbala Pal, who won Rs. 60 on the Republic Day Parade for missing only eight days of school last year, requested that even this amount be deposited in her bank account — obviously, the habit of thrift has already been ingrained in her
A student's take-away from the school when she turns 21 is:
Rs one lakh in the bank account as personal savings
A certificate of matriculation
A vocational skill that can fetch an earning of Rs. 80-100 per day, if not more an assurance from the school that they will sell her produce.
Sam's niece, Madhu Singh, handles the marketing. Besides setting high quality standards for the girls, she also suggests the designs, fetches raw material at wholesale prices from Delhi's Chandani Chowk market et al. Last year, a team from NOVICA, the commercial arm of the National Geographic, visited the school, while this year, Pardada-Pardadi is exhibiting the girls' products at three different exhibitions in Paris, Mauritius and Cape Town. "The orders are plenty; this year, we have also hired two designers from NIFT. But right now, we are able to cater only to the domestic market," informs Singh. Incidentally, the World Bank and US Aid have also evinced interest in the project.
"With just 155 girls, the majority young and raw, who have never tried their hand at stitching before, what more can you expect? But we are in no hurry," informs Sam. As of now, he is busy with the building of a firm foundation for his project. He shells out Rs. 30 lakh per year from his Trust towards the school's running expenses, besides Rs. 22 lakh for the upkeep of the building — a new one is coming up in three months time. This will increase the student strength from 155 to 355. The returns are barely Rs. 3 lakh per annum but Sam is not worried. He hopes to break even in three-four years. Then he would be ready to replicate the experiment, "In at least a hundred other villages."
Meanwhile, the school is a self-contained unit. The wheat, rice and vegetables for the kitchen are grown on the surrounding land, owned by the Singh family and looked after by one of Sam's nephews. There are no plans to add a residential facility, as Sam feels this will alienate the girls from their families. "I want them to be able to go back to their roots and influence a change there. Maybe, run such schools in their villages."
"Last year, we received 700 applications including a couple from the parents of two polio-afflicted girls. This year, we expect the number to cross 1,000," informs Singh. The Singh family's mode of selection is very simple. They distribute handbills, address public meetings at temples, mosques, Jatav and Muslim colonies and meet the village Sarpanch. Not being used to such a disciplined life, the dropout rate from the school was huge (45% in 2000 and 41% in 2001). Last year, it stabilised at 16%.
Imrana Shah (17), a dropout of last year, says she is ready to come back. Pinki Singh (15), an orphan, whose uncle and aunt pulled her out of the school, hopes 'Boss Sir' will be able to convince her relatives. Sauraj Singh Tomar, the father of two little girls says, "I am happy with the facilities but wish my daughters were getting Rs. 15, instead of Rs. 10 per day." Champa Devi, a 30-year old mother says, "I am happy. Usha Kumari (her daughter) would otherwise have been cutting-grass in the village." Shajan Jose, the Keralite school Principal laments, "The one problem I face is that everybody has a problem." However, mention of their passbook lights up the girls' faces. Fishing it out of their satchels, they'll instantly shove it under your nose for close inspection. Another aspect of their school life, which they love, is the smattering of English that they've picked up from their teachers.