Ryan Miller, PA '14, Niswarth '13
“Feel.”
Meena’s eyes crinkled as she laughed and turned back to the huddle of boys. I somehow understood her fluid train of words, “She doesn’t understand what I am saying. And I don’t speak English.” Her apparent frustration and determination to explain the game to me caused me to laugh along with her.
Read MoreWhat if college applications didn’t ask for your position in a club, but how you actually contribute to the group?
Read More“What will we get from your visit?”, this question has been lingering in my mind endlessly. It had strongly bothered me while at Lilapur, where an intern of the Environmental Sanitation Institute had asked us the same question. While in Lilapur we were given so much love and warmth that confronting this imbalance of generosity was jarring.
Read MoreMy heart gently knocked against my ribs, my feet walked on the silky sand, the wheels of the bus glided on the smooth roads of Vadodara. Amidst all the movement, I imagined myself at a standstill in the streets of Kalol at an Anganwadi.
Read MoreWhen I was little, I wanted to be a famous actress. I wanted to live in Hollywood, see my name on the big screen, and everyone to know who I was. My dreams were simpler eleven yearsago when I didn’t know the reality of life and how it actually worked.
Read MoreYou raise your hand, unsure, only knowing that you want to be as open as possible, and eating lunch by yourself in a stranger’s house seems like a good place to start. In a matter of minutes, you are walking away from everyone you had blindly eaten mangoes with the previous night.
Read MoreAs we passed the entrance gates of the Elementary School in Lilapur, we were told to sit on the plastic chairs under the shade. What a relief! Until that moment, it felt as if I were taking a bath with sweat instead of clean water.
Read MoreA camel ride in Lilapur village!
Read MoreA tall, dry tree towered above the group when a young girl peeked from behind, emanating energy and love with her wide, genuine smile lighting her small face. She tiptoed towards me, delicate and fragile, as if she would hurt the sand with her soft, floating footsteps.
Read MoreStep front step back, turn, turn, step front step back…my feet mimicked the steps of the Lilapur students and my hands danced with the rhythm of the music humming in my ears. Swirls of dust enveloped my legs as I danced lap after lap. My mouth opened to another sheepish grin, and when looking up from the tree root that marked another lap, I made eye contact with a young boy with a goofy smile.
Read MoreI raise my hands to cusp my eyes, anxiously awaiting the highly acclaimed Alphonso mango.
Read MoreThe sound of traditional Indian music blasted through the speakers as it made its way to where we were standing. In the middle of June, the heat was not as I bad as I expected it to, yet I could feel the heat dripping through my back and clinging to my shirt with every step I took. A group of girls from the elementary school approached us.
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