As I watched the Write India video the other day, I teared up and realized I wanted to tell the stories of my stories, the lessons I learned, and express my gratitude for the Write India program.
Usha pushed herself up. Pain weighed down her limbs as she switched off the fan. She went over to the dining room table and collapsed into a chair. Her shoulders heaved as silent sobs escaped her lips. She rose from the chair and moved it under the fan. She climbed onto the chair and draped the dupatta over the fan's stainless steel blades. As she readied to tie the dupatta around her neck, the fan switched on. The dupatta flew out of her hand and on to the floor.
“These wounds look self-inflicted,” said the nurse pointing to the bandage on Divya’s left wrist. “Is it about a boyfriend, dear?” “No, ma’am.” “A half-boyfriend then? I hear the girls have those now.” Divya hated this line of questioning. Why did it always have to be about a boy?
You’re standing in the middle of the quad and looking around at all the rich, smart kids and thinking: “How did I get here? Why did they pick me? I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve this.” But, you’re wrong. So very wrong.
“Dam kya hai? (What is the price?)” So far, this Hindi phrase is one of the few that I have been able to master effectively. Understanding the cost of an item is key to assessing its value. When Brian and I have asked how much it costs to go to college, the answers have always … Continue reading What price perfection?