A project for children in India, built step by step

To understand where this project comes from, we should probably start with Pierre.

Pierre and I shared much of our entrepreneurial journey. We met in telecommunications before becoming partners in what gradually became PayXpert. Over time, our professional relationship became a deep friendship.

We share many things: values, an affinity with Buddhism and spirituality, a certain way of seeing life, and a sufficiently caustic sense of humour to remind us that spirituality and constant solemnity are fortunately not the same thing.

Pierre has been blind since the age of 30. Elsewhere I have described what all those years beside him taught me about disability, independence and accessibility. But his blindness explains only part of this project.

Pierre did not end up having children. Yet few people I know have such a capacity to give. He is extraordinarily generous with his time and what he owns, and has that rare ability to commit himself deeply to a cause that means something to him. The idea of helping children in India therefore came quite naturally to him.

Pierre travels regularly to India on spiritual retreats. His own experience naturally makes the situation of blind or visually impaired children particularly meaningful to him.

In some traditional Himalayan and Tibetan communities, blindness has historically been associated with karmic beliefs and seen as the consequence of actions in a previous life. Such beliefs may have contributed to the stigma and exclusion of some blind children.

The documentary Blindsight helped draw attention to this reality by following several blind Tibetan teenagers and people seeking to give them access to education, independence and a different sense of what they could become.

I want to be careful about cultural generalisations. India and the Himalayas are vast, cultures are diverse and circumstances have changed considerably. But a far more universal reality remains: when a child faces poverty, a lack of family support and disability all at once, the obstacles multiply.

For Pierre, helping some of these children therefore took on a special meaning. Not simply giving them a roof, but allowing them to become independent, to learn and to grow, ideally without believing that their disability defines what they can become.

When Pierre told me about the project, he had certainly not imagined anything small. That is very like him.

The idea was to create a genuine place to live in the Himalayan foothills: somewhere to welcome children, including blind and visually impaired children, but also a school, spaces for learning and somewhere health professionals could come. Perhaps, eventually, a medical facility. A place where children, teachers, volunteers and people from other countries could meet.

The ambition went well beyond putting up a building. It was about imagining an environment where a vulnerable child could grow up, learn and gradually become independent.

I immediately wanted to stand alongside Pierre. Our professional paths had ultimately diverged as partners at PayXpert. Our friendship did not end with a transaction over company shares. And I cared deeply about the purpose of his project. Now I need to commit more of myself to it.

Looking at a problem from Europe, it is easy to think: we have resources; there is a need; therefore we only have to fund the solution. Of course, it does not work like that. And rightly so.

Setting up or funding an institution for vulnerable children must be subject to very strict oversight. India regulates institutions caring for children in need of protection under the Juvenile Justice Act and its child protection framework. Funding from abroad is regulated separately under the Foreign Contribution Regulation Act (FCRA).

When you arrive with money from overseas, these requirements can feel frustrating. But they must also be seen from the other side. An orphanage or any institution caring for children is exactly the kind of place that must be protected from people with bad intentions.

The identities of those involved, the origin of funds, governance, how the money is used, the care provided to children and local accountability: all of this must be checked.

The problem was not that our project lacked purpose. It was that our original way of pursuing it was probably too direct.

We had two choices. Keep defending the ideal project for years, waiting for every condition to fall into place. Or start doing something useful immediately. Pierre chose the second option.

Rather than trying to build our own organisation from day one, Pierre reached out to existing local partners. The idea now is to move forward with an organisation already on the ground, with local knowledge, the appropriate oversight and the necessary authorisations.

The first stage will probably not specifically involve children with visual impairments. Pierre began by supporting the rebuilding and relaunch of an existing institution caring for children.

It is less spectacular than the original project. But it is real. A building can be renovated. Children can live there in better conditions. A local organisation can be strengthened.

Above all, we can learn how things actually work on the ground before claiming to build something much more ambitious. Step by step.

This experience made me think about the difference between pursuing an ambition and insisting on carrying out your own project.

Pierre could have clung to his original idea: our land, our building, our school, the name he had found for the project. But what was the real objective? To build something that looked like him? Or to help children?

If an existing local association can make a greater difference with the same resources, the answer should be obvious. It simply means putting ego aside a little. Impact matters more than ownership of the project.

I see a logic here very close to business. We can fall in love with the solution we imagined when what matters is the problem we wanted to solve. When the original route does not work, we must be able to change it without abandoning the destination.

That naturally leads to another question. Why are we doing this?

I now live with my family in Andorra. Our choice reflects several considerations: how we organise our family and professional lives, safety, the environment and a favourable tax framework. I have no difficulty saying so.

But benefiting from favourable circumstances also creates a personal responsibility in my eyes. It makes me ask: what do I do with some of that good fortune?

With Isabel, we want to devote part of what we have to projects whose impact we can understand concretely. See where the money goes. Know the people behind the project. Understand what it enables them to build. And, where possible, contribute not only funding but also time, skills and a pair of hands.

I believe strongly in this kind of direct involvement. Not because it is superior to every other form of solidarity, but because it matches how we like to act. Above all, it is also about helping my friend realise a project with meaning, one whose importance brings out the best in him.

I do not want our contribution to amount to making a bank transfer once a year.

On the contrary, I look forward to having more time to go there with Pierre, his partner, Isabel and our children.

Not to arrive for a few days pretending to understand a reality that is not ours. Still less to play saviours. But to help, observe, listen, work when we can be useful and, above all, learn. I especially want our children to have that experience.

Our children are growing up in a privileged environment. They travel, receive a good education and have access to technology, safety, food, healthcare and opportunities we easily come to take for granted when everyone around us has the same things. They are not things to take for granted.

I do not want to take my children to India to show them “poverty”. That approach troubles me. Other people are not there to serve as life lessons for privileged children.

I would like them to discover something much deeper: the variety of ways people live; to meet children their own age whose daily lives are completely different; to understand that material wealth and human richness are not the same; and to see that things they consider obvious may be anything but.

I also want them to learn that helping is not a relationship between someone who has everything and someone who has nothing. We all have something to receive: a different way of seeing family, community, spirituality, time, mutual help, joy and resilience.

Above all, I hope they understand that having more gives us the possibility of sharing more.

Giving money is useful, sometimes essential. But I would like my children to know that commitment does not stop there. You can also give time, a skill, a day’s work, an idea, a contact, the ability to organise, a pair of hands to repair something or simply your presence.

For years entrepreneurship has taught me to look at a problem and ask how to act on it. I see no reason why that approach should end at the office door. The resources are different, and so is the purpose. But the question is ultimately similar: what can we actually do with the resources we have?

Today the first stage involves an existing institution and children who may not have a visual impairment. That could seem far removed from Pierre’s original plan. I see it exactly the other way round.

We are learning, building local relationships, understanding the constraints and trying to become useful gradually rather than merely generous.

The original dream is still there: one day to contribute more to welcoming, educating and empowering blind or visually impaired children.

Perhaps the final form will be exactly what we first imagined. Probably not. Experience has taught me that important projects rarely end up looking precisely like the first PowerPoint we put together. And that is all right.

There is, however, one expression from the original project to which I remain very attached: creating a zone of peace.

I do not yet know what it will look like. Perhaps it will never be a large campus in the Himalayas. Perhaps it will consist of several smaller achievements: a rebuilt building, beds, a classroom, a child able to continue studying, adapted equipment for a blind child, a medical intervention, a trained person or a family receiving support.

In the end, it does not matter. A zone of peace may not need walls. It exists whenever we manage to give someone a little more safety, independence or opportunity.

Pierre and I built businesses together. We went through problems, successes, failures and changes of shareholders. Eventually our professional paths separated. But some things outlive the companies we create. Friendship is one. Values are another.

Today we are simply trying to use some of what life has given us to build something that is not meant to belong to us.

We started with an immense project. Reality forced us to be more modest. I ultimately think that is a good thing. It asks us to listen before acting, work with people who know the ground, accept the rules designed to protect children, measure real impact rather than stated ambition, and keep moving.

One building. One organisation. A few children. Then more, we hope. Perhaps one day blind children. Perhaps a school. Perhaps still more. We shall see.

The important thing is not to mistake a slow path for a lack of progress. Step by step. That is often how the projects that truly matter finally become real.

Nicolas