Twenty-something Rajesh's life is a huge success story in more ways than one. The small-built youth who thinks he resembles actor, Rajpal Yadav, runs an organisation called Pukar. It may have no fixed address but it does make an honest attempt to acquire one for the kids on the streets, by getting them the essential documents: ration cards, pan numbers and such. This former street kid also works as a production boy at film units, "earning enough," he says, "for me to be able to spend some money out of my pocket on these boys."

For Childline India Foundation, the 24-hour, toll free, emergency helpline for children in distress, which works both ways - as a phone service and through direct intervention, at the grass roots - Rajesh epitomises the turnaround that can take place in the life of every exploited, vulnerable child. "He was one of the first kids to get in touch with Childline. He had been behind bars several times in small robbery cases, before he approached one of our centres. He would sit around and watch our phone counsellors talk to children who called in," recalls Kajol Menon, the organisation's plucky executive director.

We are at the Dadar centre, watching an animated bunch of bright-eyed, enthusiastic children, who range from eight to 19 years of age, rehearsing for Childline's celebration of its ten years of existence. It was on June 2, exactly a decade ago, that the first phone bell rang at one of their centres. Rajesh is directing the entire production, which spawns a small drama, some music and loads of shimmying and shaking to largely popular Hindi film numbers. There is 12-year-old Prashant, who travelled all the way from Kalyan just to be part of this little group. For nine-year old Sunny, participating in the celebrations was a means of discovering new friends.

It's a small, yet raucous, gathering and Menon is obviously enjoying herself. This is a rare trek out of the head office, when she isn't actually dealing with some kind of crisis. "I love the energy they exude, their enthusiasm and the shine in their eyes," she smiles. And then, a little sadly, "Our biggest tragedy is when we see the shine turn dull. Either reality takes over or substance abuse wrecks havoc. Sometimes we lose kids, who we think have turned around, to drugs or AIDS."

Increasingly, the tragic tales are few and far between. Set up in Mumbai by Jeroo Billimoria (featured earlier in Verve, October 2000), as a field project for the Tata Social Services, it was dismissed by most as 'too Western' in concept. Who had ever heard of a helpline for children in distress? Given the reality of this country, where street children were uneducated, too busy struggling for survival and wary of almost everyone, only direct intervention would work!

Yet at the last count, 1098, the number that works as a lifeline for vulnerable kids across 70 Indian cities, had received 9.5 million calls. If Childline works with street kids in Mumbai, in states like Bihar, their callers are overexploited, overworked and abused child labourers and in Goa, they are innocent victims of paedophilia. "The organisation, instead of setting up expensive infrastructure, partners more than 100 other NGOs at the grass roots," says Menon. "We set up our phone lines in their centres or in government schools. We send our volunteers through them for offline help." At the basic level, Childline volunteers ensure that speedy aid reaches every kid who calls in, especially in emergencies like accidents or abuse. After the devastating tsunami hit India and other parts of Asia, they set up helplines in the affected areas and then went to smaller islands to ferret out children and people in need of emergency help. At a macro level, they work with government organisations, like health and police authorities. Interestingly, Billimoria, the founder, now heads Childline International.

It takes some doing to run what seems like a mid-sized MNC. Menon doesn't look like any corporate head. No chiffons, pearls or power suits here. Dressed in a natty black cotton saree, she is a warm, high-spirited lady. At any given time, she is either in a fund-raising meeting or a policy making one. Back from the Dadar visit, seated in the office within an old municipal school next to a traffic-infested bridge in South Mumbai, Menon recalls her initial days at Childline. When she first came in, all she wanted to do was help with their communication and fund raising activities.

"I grew up in a close-knit family in Delhi and Mumbai," she says, sipping a hot cup of tea. "We are three sisters and I am the youngest. My family was extremely fond of art and I grew up loving the crafts, the arts and design." After graduating from St. Stephen's College, Delhi, Menon taught for quite a few years, and then made educational and developmental films for the University Grant Commission and Comet Media. Even after her marriage to banker, Madhusudan Menon in 1993 and her move to Kolkota, she continued working as a film-maker.

It was only when she moved to Mumbai sometime in the late '90s and took a break for her daughter's tenth standard exams, did Menon really come in touch with Childline when a friend recommended that she check them out.

"I loved the exuberance, the energy, the masti in the air. It was a young organisation. Also, once you come in touch with Jeroo, you tend to get sucked in by her love for what she is doing." What Menon also admired was the scale of the organisation, its reach and the number of children whose lives it was impacting. "In a country as huge as India, until you have the scale - the infrastructure - you can't make a real difference."

Initially, she found herself to be somewhat of an outsider. "I would often say 'you guys' while addressing the volunteers. Jeroo would complain, 'What do you mean, you guys! Aren't you one of us?' We come with blinkers about social workers living in their own world. For me, there is more to life beyond the organisation. I have several friends from the world of art and design, I love to chill out with them, watch movies, read, travel...."

Slowly, however, Menon found herself becoming a part of Childline to such an extent, "that my husband complains he has lost his wife to a cause! But he understands. He is a Malayali and I am a Bengali; we both come from states with leftist leanings." Besides, she can't really help her total involvement. The kids she deals with demand a 100 per cent, maybe even more. Many are wary of approaching the helpline. Wariness is a natural tendency when you are faced with the harsh reality of life on the streets or in the killing coal mines of Bihar. "They test you all the time. They give the helplines blank calls. Sometimes, they send the volunteers on a wild goose chase, just to check if they respond. We have also been locked within our head office by angry kids, who felt that their issues weren't being redressed."

Children call in for different reasons, in different cities. "The children are the backbone of this movement," says Menon earnestly. "They don't need us, they deserve us. In fact, they feel they own Childline and are free to criticise our working if they think we are going wrong somewhere."

Her most recent memory is of the crucial case against the Mumbai-located Anchorage Shelter Trust. Childline was a petitioner in the Public Interest Litigation. This was the shelter in which teenage and minor boys were sexually abused and brutally tortured by its British patrons, Duncan Grant and Alan Waters. "We send our boys who ask for shelter, to different homes. But we didn't ever send them to Anchorage, since we had heard all kind of weird rumours about them," she says. It was only when writer, Meher Pestonji, who had been interacting with these children for a bit, came up to Billimoria and asked her to do something, did Childline get actively involved.

"It was a long and difficult case," sighs Menon. "Some witnesses turned hostile. There was no money to fight the battle. A lot of people called in to offer support, but refused to give any financial help. It was only because three boys stood by their statements, that we actually managed to get the two convicted." Their concern now is to rehabilitate the boys who are on drugs. "They refuse to go to a rehabilitation centre and it is extremely difficult to do any therapy as long as they are on the streets."

Despite these small disappointments, so successful is the Childline experiment in India, that it's being replicated in several developing, third world countries. What gives her the most satisfaction? "Meeting happy, excited kids for whom Childline is much more than just another NGO. Their enthusiasm is infectious!"

To know more about Childline India Foundation, log on www.childlineindia.org.in