My first NGO

I had been recommended and thus, the first day I had been asked to give an interview in the office for Jeevika Developmental Society. Little did I know, that the experience I was to go through in the next five months would be completely life-changing.

I had started taking communicative English classes from around the end of October, the first class for me was highly apprehensive. There were around 25 middle ages ( actually a group of women aged from around 20 to women who were much older) sat around me, their eyes glittering with hope, some showing resistance in a very subtle form. I would not say that I was intimidated by them or they gave me a negative vibe in any way. I was plain simple scared. I was scared to face these women who were already themselves employees of this organization. They were highly self-sufficient women who wanted to have a considerable grasp over spoken English so that they were able to communicate minimally at least and also to face their confidence with a renewed outlook. Being given such a huge responsibility appeared scary to me. I was frightened to take up a task and a responsibility so huge because I was afraid that I would never be able to do justice to it, to them who expected from me and to myself.

For the next five months I tried, I tried relentlessly to deliver to whatever I was able to learn over the years myself, I would get up early in the morning and rush towards the buses and the rickshaws and travel all the way to Joka because even though scared, I was stubborn about my responsibility.

Eventually, the women became my friends. they started to become a family to me. Even though I do not see them anymore, I miss them with all I have. Seeing them try their best every day, running down from their respective field work areas to attend the english class, writing down every thing they were able to, listening to the class with rapt. attention, they did it all. On hindsight I feel, they did much more justice to my efforts than I did to them. They welcomed me like I was never welcomed before. I saw them grow in front of my eyes. Everyday as I asked them to narrate what significant something had happened in their lives, during the past week, they would use all their mind and soul and come up with English sentences, though they were broken and partially correct ones, they sounded more melodious to me than anything I had ever heard before.

I used to prepare lesson plans for them and try and read out to them stories or conduct fun activities so that it was easier for them to remember the articles, the conjunctions and the prepositions. They would all write down as I would scribble on the white board. They would huddle together in groups and try to read the small books I used to give them. Initially it was tough, sometimes I would almost tear my hair off at home, frustrated that I was failing, I would cry because they wouldn’t be able to say one whole sentence in english. they hardly seemed to find the English words and I hardly seemed to find a method to work their problem out. I remember repeating the articles for several times, trying to get the vowel use into their heads. It was hard for me to understand why they would not be able to understand such minor things, why it was so difficult for them.

Then there would be magival days. these days Mousumi, Baijanti, Tuhina, Rinki, they would speak out miraculously, they would form their own sentences refusing to use even one Bangla word and smartly speak out that incident they wanted to narrate. I would be awestruck, on the bus back home I would cry and think how my e3fforts worked and how I was not failing anymore. Then there were times, they would all rush into the room, all at once and narrate to me what happened in their field work that day, how a woman was abused or how a husband came forward and took an initiative to allow his wife work, despite the tough patriarchal set-up. I sometimes would laugh at their funny stories, back at home, look at the pictures they brought of their children playing and sometimes look all teary eyed towards them because it was tough to listen to a woman burning herself and her son burn alive, due to immense dowry pressures.

Everyday I ended up learning much more from them than they could from me. I was evolving as a human being. Slowly I began to feel like a apart of their families, I felt like I knew their husbands and their children. i often felt like I knew what was happening in their homes, how their homes looked like. I began to become a part of them. Emotionally, physically, it was as if I had found a home away from home. Doi8ng something that made me happy, sitting in front of extremely eager faces every week and talking about life, rights, problems and well english.

I remember scolding them too, getting immensely frustrated and they looking down teary eyed, I remember scolding them for not trying enough, not practicing enough, not giving enough efforts. I also remember coming back home with a heavy heart, storming out of my own room to take solace in the balcony for my frustrations.

Yes, this does not look like a report anymore,but I surely wanted it to be. I wanted it to be a report from the very beginning,something that would give me a hands-on-experience and help me prepare my bio-data. By the end of it all, though, it became a journey. A journey that was life-changing, a journey that gave me a family away from home.