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Kindness
(Hope
is the) Mother of Kindness: How we began My father was originally from India and my mother of Indian descent. She grew up on the edge of the Amazonian Rainforest in Guyana, South America. I was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA. Although we called our mom "Ammaji" (Hindi for mother) I had little direct experience with India until 1981, when we relocated to my father's hometown in the Himalayan foothills. Dehradun was not the industrious city it is today; rather a sleepy settlement sprawled in the lush shadow of the mountains. Cows napped in the streets, grandly indifferent to passing cars, and the electricity was surprising only when it worked. The nearest international long-distance phone was a six-hour drive. Everything was an adventure. In the early morning, a milkman would come to our gate, appearing out of the mist with his clanking bucket. Having only seen milk come out of cartons, I was delighted by this, and liked to run out after Ammaji to watch him transfer the milk into our kitchen jug. One day, when he was pouring the milk, a neighborhood urchin was passing by and stopped, watching us with a puzzled look. By this point, we had gotten used to seeing street children, scraping for food, stealing what they could, begging for spare change. They were huddled at every corner, clad in torn and dirty clothes, tiny hands held out in entreaty. We would give them a little money and go about our day. They were just another part of our new life in India. This scrawny little boy paused and asked, "What's that white stuff?" I was shocked that he had never seen, much less tasted, milk. Wasn't it one of the basics of childhood? My mother sent me to get a cup from the house, silently poured the fresh, frothy milk and held it out. After a first cautious taste, he downed it in one ravenous gulp, and solemnly handed the tin cup back. We stood in silence, uncertain. Suddenly his grimy face lit with a huge grin, bright as a kid at Christmas, thrilled at having had a simple glass of milk, offered with kindness. After he ran off, my mother took the milk jug inside and cried. I will never forget that child's smile. The smile that broke our hearts and changed our lives.
She began with a pint of milk a day. Word of the free milk spread rapidly and soon a horde of hungry children were turning up every morning, looking for something to put in their empty bellies before going off to beg in the streets. Many of them were the children of leprosy patients, people too handicapped to work, shunned by society. All the children were illiterate, filthy and malnourished. Ammaji couldn't bring herself to turn them away. As our household budget strained under escalating gallons of milk, friends sent money to help. We began to see a difference; the children put on healthy weight and became more alert and active. My mother realized that feeding kids helped, but it didn't fix the problem. Charity can only postpone a bleak future. Hungry children need more than charity, they need change. They need faith that one-day they will provide their own meals. They need education. Under a shade tree in a slum, she started teaching children to read. My brother and I would go with and play with them. Sometimes we would have to beg parents to send their kids; but what do you do when you are crippled by leprosy and the income from your child's begging is all you have? Ammaji began to raise money to support basic needs so the children had "free time" to attend classes. My mother begged from our friends so that the children need not beg from strangers. As need for support grew, and donations began to come from around the world, we attained non-profit status, began building a school, and KHEL was born. At first, the letters KHEL stood for two things, to convey the diversity
of needs we served: Kindness, Health and Education for Lepers, and Kids
Health, Education and Laughter. In recent years, we have streamlined the
organization, and refined the name to express the essentials of our mission:
Kindness, Health, Education and Laughter. Today, the organization my mother began by giving milk to one child supports
a government-recognized school with 250 students and offers scholarships
for those continuing their education. We provide basic needs such as bulk
food rations, medical assistance and development to Leprosy communities.
KHEL hosts medical camps and contributes to adult education. We have 40
employees who receive continuous, on-the-job training and assistance for
expanding their skills with computer courses and management seminars.
We assist local business ventures with financial help, business advice
and networking. KHEL builds homes, community centers and medical dispensaries,
as well as implementing clean water, drainage and sanitary facilities.
The community in which we began is no longer a slum. Under my mother's continued guidance and the invaluable support of donors, friends and family, my sister Stomya Persaud and I act as administrators to KHEL on a purely voluntary basis. KHEL has defined my family. Running it continues to be a mixture of pride, humility, exasperation and joy. When people say you can't make a difference, it's because they haven't tried. We started with a battered tin cup of milk held out in kindness. We started with hope.
Mrs. Lalita Arya, Founder
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