Prathibha and Preetha

I’ve met over 200 children since I’ve been here. We don’t pick favorites.

I truly do love them all. Each and every one of them bring something special to my days. Shormilla brings me smiles when she widens her own, Vysali brings me poise as she sits up straight and looks onward, Maria brings me laughter when she fools around with her friends, Aba brings me grief and joy in his spot-on 10 years of age, and so many others simply light up my world.

But Prathibha and Preetha? They’re magical.

I’ve been impacted most profoundly by the two of them. They trigger emotions within myself that I’ve buried. They’re reflections of me, though indirectly. They’ll never know just how deeply they’re engrained in my brain, etched in my heart.

Prathibha is 4. I met her today on the kindergarden playground. They speak very spotty English but they try their hardest to communicate. When I first arrived there, all the children ran up to greet me. “Miss! Miss! Your name, Miss!” They hugged my legs, grabbed at my waist, and flaunted their bright, beautiful smiles.

But in the corner, away from the rest of the children, was Prathibha. And she was crying.

I asked one of the other girls why she was crying and all she muttered was, “Mom…mom.”

“She misses her mom?” I asked. She nodded.

I went over to Prathibha and I told her my name. Still crying. I asked her how old she was. Still crying. I asked if she wanted to play with her friends. Still crying. I asked her why she was crying. Prathibha let out a simple, “Mother.”

She’s homesick. And she wasn’t the only one to cry over that today. Four children were taken out of class because they were crying. But Prathibha – something was different about her. I saw the story in her eyes. I understood.

For a moment, I watched her life. I imagined her mother, holding Prathibha in her arms. I imagined them making trips for water together. I imagined them happy with their simplicity. I saw why Prathibha was so sad.

I asked if she would show me a smile. She hesitated. I asked again and pointed to my own. And just then, her lips cracked and I saw her blinding white teeth. “See?” I said. “Look how beautiful that smile is!”

She may be sad and she may be sick. But she’s strong. She puts a smile on when she needs to. She’s brave. She trudges on.

I remember when I was her age. My mom took me to gymnastics and the moment she left the room, I cried. I cried, and cried, and cried until she finally came back. I ran into her arms and I didn’t let go.

I remember how that moment felt. Like the only thing you knew was being stripped of you. And that’s what happens to these children every year. The only difference for me? My mom came back. Prathibha’s didn’t. And she won’t. Not until she graduates.

Yes, education is just that important.

And then there’s Preetha. She’s in the tenth grade, she’s great at sports, and she loves to write. She’s gorgeous. The men in America would flock over her if they ever caught sight of her sleek black hair and slim figure. But I don’t think any of them would be deserving.

Preetha sits at the head of the dinner table, surrounded by fifth and sixth graders. They’re not her friends, but they’re her siblings. Theoretically. She’s the big sister they don’t have with them. And she takes it on with a smile. With understanding. With pride.

I sat with her at dinner and we had the most down-to-Earth conversation. I felt like I was talking to one of the volunteers. We talked about classes, her hobbies, her friends, her dreams. She didn’t hide a thing. And when we started talking about writing, she became shy and humble.

She’s done exceptional things. She’s produced amazing work. And she doesn’t even know how wonderful she is.

I asked if she’d let me read some of her things and she shied away. “Not even a class assignment?” I asked. “No, they’re no good,” she shrugged.

I told her the best writers are often the ones who think their work isn’t worth anything. She seemed hesitant but she smiled. She knows she’s talented and she finally cracked – she’s writing me a poem before I leave.

I can’t wait to read it. I can’t wait to see what she has to say, what she thinks, what she feels. It’ll be incredible whether short or long. It’ll be inspiring. It’ll be moving. I can feel it.

I wish you could meet Prathibha and Preetha. I think you’d love them. I think they’d make your heart melt in the same way they did mine.

If I leave here with anything, it’ll be two new friends. And a poem. And that’s all I really need.