The Monkey Bars

Image from Pixabay

"What are you doing?"

Sonu opened her eyes, breathing heavily. Her brother was standing in front, looking at her in confusion.

Taking a few quick breaths, Sonu said, "Hanging."

"I can see that," he said, rolling his eyes. "But why? You hate playing on the monkey bars!"

But Sonu was in no state to answer. Her breath was coming in shorter gasps, and her face was turning red. And her hands! They were hurting so much! Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed herself to hold on for a little longer. But right then, her hands started slipping, and she had to let go.

Landing on the ground with a thud, she took a second to make sure nothing was broken. Satisfied, she sat down on the sand, catching her breath.

After a few moments, when her breathing finally seemed to come back to normal, she looked up at her brother. He was still standing there, hands on his hips, watching her antics.

"So?" he asked again. "Why were you hanging from the monkey bars?"

Sonu looked away, remaining silent for a few seconds. Finally, she mumbled something softly.

"What?" Bhai asked, looking confused.

Taking a deep breath, Sonu spoke again, this time loudly and clearly. "If I hang from there I'll become taller."

There was silence for a bit, and then her brother burst out laughing. "What?!" he chortled. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

Pouting her lips in annoyance, Sonu huffed her shoulders and said, "Shilpa aunty said I would!"

At this, Bhai's laughter died down a bit, though he still looked quite amused. He walked over slowly and sat down next to Sonu.

For as long as she could remember (which wasn't many years ago), she had been the short one. Her parents were tall. Her brother was tall. All her cousins were tall. Even in school, she was the shortest in her class. She was always made to stand in front of the line because of that! In fact, there were many students in the younger classes who were much taller than her.

And every time she complained to her parents, their only response was that 'one day' she would shoot up in height. That one day still hadn't come. Until it came, Sonu was still very much short, as people around her felt the need to point out all the time.

One such person was Shilpa aunty, their neighbour. She would often mention how short Sonu was, and this did nothing to help Sonu's mood. But this time, she said something that caught Sonu's attention. As a passing comment, she mentioned that Sonu should probably hang from a bar, as that was the only other way she would grow taller. In hindsight, she was probably joking, but for Sonu, the idea took root.

At first, Sonu rejected the idea. She hated monkey bars. She could barely hang on to the bars for a few seconds before falling down. She was really jealous of Bhai, who would easily cross over from one end to the other, while Sonu wouldn't even be able to hold on to one bar.

But the more she thought about it, the idea started sounding better and better. She was so tired of being the short one. She was tired of being told by everyone around her how short she was, and then having them look at her with pity. She really, really wanted to grow taller now. So if this idea actually worked, it might be worth a try.

So here she was, hanging from the monkey bars in the playground, huffing and puffing, hoping that those few seconds would at least let her grow a few centimetres.

After a few moments of silence, Bhai looked sideways at her and asked, "Why are you so obsessed with growing taller?"

"Don't you remember the picture?!" Sonu asked, confused that he even asked this question.

Bhai stared at her for sometime, as though trying to remember which picture she was talking about. And then, suddenly, he burst out laughing again.

"It's not funny!" Sonu shouted.

Last month, the whole extended family had gotten together. Before they left, everyone had posed for a full family photograph, with Sonu standing in front. But when the photo was finally developed and brought home, Sonu was nowhere to be seen in it! The photographer had somehow managed to click the picture a little higher than needed; and as a result, had ended up cutting Sonu out of the pic. Everyone else was in it, except her!

After a while, Bhai finally stopped laughing. Looking at his little sister, and the lack of laughter on her face, he asked again, "Seriously. Why does it bother you so much?"

Happy that he had finally stopped laughing, Sonu thought about his question. "Everyone is always saying that I'm really short," she said finally, not sure of what else to say.

"Well, you are," said Bhai. Looking at the angry flash in her eyes, he added hurriedly, "Arrey you are short! But why is that a problem?"

Sonu was about to open her mouth to reply, but she stopped short at the question. No one had ever asked her that before.

"I don't know. All the grown-ups keep saying I should be taller. Maybe taller people look nicer?" she said, trying to come up with an explanation that made sense.

Bhai shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes, and muttered something under his breath. "Listen, I'll tell you a secret," he said softly, leaning in.

Sonu shifted, moving closer, frustration slowly getting replaced by curiosity.

"Grown-ups don't know what they're talking about. Listen to what they say, and then ignore it. Otherwise they'll drive you crazy."

Sonu frowned. This made no sense. Everyone always said to listen to the grown-ups. They were supposed to be the smart ones!

"I'm serious!" Bhai added. "Look, they're always after me not to play out in the sun because then I'll become dark."

"What's wrong with being dark?" Sonu asked, confused.

"Exactly! But who's going to explain that to them?" Bhai said, again shaking his head.

"So what do you do?" Sonu asked.

"What I said. Listen to them, and then ignore them."

Sonu looked at him, still feeling a little uncertain.

"Listen," Bhai said, exhaling strongly. "You want to hang in the monkey bars? Then do it. I'll help you."

Sonu looked at him, thinking, and then finally whispered, "I kind of hated it."

"That's what I thought," said Bhai, standing up and dusting his pants. Sonu kicked his leg softly, annoyed at the sand flying all over her face.

"Come on," Bhai said, ruffling her hair.

"Where are we going?" Sonu asked, getting up to follow him. “To do something that’s actually fun,” he said over his shoulder.

The two walked up to the merry-go-round. Seeing it, a smile began to spread on Sonu’s face. "Do you think this might also make me taller?" she asked.

"Definitely not," Bhai said, as he started to push the bars to make them spin. He raised his eyebrows, as though challenging his little sister.

Sonu looked at the merry-go-round, now spinning really fast, and then at Bhai standing on the opposite end. Finally, making up her mind, she nodded and flashed a big smile at Bhai. "Let's go!"

With that, both of them caught on to a spinning bar on each end, like they had done many times before, and swung alongside, screaming with excitement.

कुछ दबे हुए अल्फ़ाज़

कुछ अल्फ़ाज़ हैं दबे हुए

बेचैन, जोश से भरे

निकलना चाहते हैं

उभरना चाहते हैं

अपने पंख खोल, उड़ना चाहते हैं

वक़्त की कोई समझ नहीं इन्हे

कभी भी फुदकना शुरू कर देते हैं

कभी चलते

कभी सोते

बिन बुलाये, दिन भर खटकते रहते हैं

पर जितना जोश अंदर दिखाते हैं

उतनी ही कायरता बाहर

क्यूंकि होठ खोलते ही

कलम उठाते ही

न जाने कहाँ खो जाते हैं

शायद डरते हैं ये

अपने होने के अंजाम से

उन्हें शाबाशी मिलेगी 

या फिर नफरत 

इस सोच में थम जाते हैं

मन ही मन मुझसे कहते हैं

एक दिन अपना चेहरा दिखाएंगे

जो खामोश हैं जज़्बात

उन्हें साथ लाएंगे 

इन बेड़ियों को पीछे छोड़ आएंगे 

मगर उस दिन के इंतज़ार में

न जाने कितने पल गुज़र जाएंगे

ऐसा न हो

की उस पल के आते

ये अल्फ़ाज़ ही ख़तम हो जायेंगे

************

Kuch Dabe Hue Alfaaz

Kuch alfaaz hain dabe hue

Bechain, josh se bhare

Nikalna chahte hain

Ubharna chahte hain

Apne pankh khol udna chahte hain

Waqt ki koi samajh nahi inhe

Kabhi bhi fudakna shuru kar dete hain

Kabhi chalte

Kabhi sote

Bin bulaye, din bhar khatakte rehte hain

Par jitna josh andar dikhaate hain

Utni hi kaayarta baahar

Kyonki hoth kholte hi

Kalam uthaate hi

Na jaane kahaan kho jaate hain

Shaayad darte hain ye

Apne hone ke anjaam se

Unhe shabaashi milegi

Ya phir nafrat

Is soch mein tham jaate hain

Mann hi mann mujhse kehte hain

Ek din apna chehra dikhayenge

Jo khaamosh hain jazbaat

Unhe saath laayenge

In bediyon ko peeche chhod aayenge

Magar uss ek din ke intezaar mein

Na jaane kitne pal guzar jayenge

Aisa na ho

Ki uss pal ke aate

Ye alfaaz hi khatam ho jayenge

Here's to Writing...Again

I love writing. Okay, maybe that's a bit strong. But I definitely enjoy it. Yet in the last couple of years, I don't think I've written even a dozen times. And I've been wondering why that is.

It's not from a lack of things to write about - my head's constantly spinning with thoughts and opinions and judgments.

I sometimes tell myself that it's because I started writing whatever I wanted to in emails to a friend, so the motivation to transfer all that into a blog didn't feel all that strong.

But if I'm being completely honest here (which I usually hope I am), it's because I'm scared.

You see, a lot of people like to write because the act of writing itself makes them happy. That really isn't the case with me. For me, writing isn't a private act. It's not a diary filled with my thoughts where just the ink on the paper provides me with a sense of catharsis.

For me, writing is about communication. And that means there's a reader on the other end.

People who know me well enough would know that I'm terrible at talking. Like Chandler Bing, I'm socially awkward when it comes to conversations. I usually never know what to say, or if I do, I struggle with articulating it. While most people think on their feet, I think on my ass. I need time to gather my thoughts, and then present them in a way that I have some control over.

And that's writing.

So while I do enjoy the act of writing, for me it is really about getting my thoughts out to others. Thoughts that I think are important, worth stating, and hopefully, worth reading. And given that I don't do a great job of conveying those thoughts orally, the pressure of conveying them well through the written word is...well...a little high.

The downside of this, however, is that I'm also overly reliant on others 'liking' what I read. And I don't just mean the Facebook click. There's a sense of vulnerability associated with putting my thoughts and opinions out there. This works really well if the post is received positively, but also has the ability to cause me to shrivel up and want to delete the post at the first sign of disagreement.

Admittedly, this just means that I need to toughen up and learn how to take critical feedback - an important skill that we're not taught enough of [more on this and my critical feedback buddy in a later post].

But a part of this hesitation also arises from this new trend of 'trolling' that seems to be getting so popular. As much as I hate it, I often find myself reading through the comments of random people in articles that I like, and the level of nastiness in them is just alarming. The number of personal attacks that people today feel comfortable launching on unknown others is messed up. How can you possibly 'troll' a person who speaks out about their experience of sexual assault?! With each passing the day online, my level of disgust at humanity rises, and as a side-effect, so does my fear of writing.

Yet deep down, I know that fear is unfounded. Hell, it could even just be an excuse to cover up my laziness - I'm not sure. But the fact that I'm writing on my blog after three months is confounding, and I really feel the need to find something to blame (other than myself of course).

So what really inspired me to write again today? Well, it was a challenge posed by a fellow writer / cousin / friend [I really do need to stop waiting around for these challenges to write each year]. For those who might be interested, it's a happiness challenge [read this and this].

And while I don't see myself resorting to excel sheets to track my happiness any time soon, I figured the one thing I really should get on with is the one thing I've been delaying for a while now: this blog.

So, here's hoping that this post will be the trigger of many others to come. One a week. One a day. One whenever a thought pops into my head. Whatever it takes. No more waiting around for it to be perfect. No more worrying about what others think of it (at least, pretending not to).

And hopefully, somewhere along the way, learning to add my two cents again.

The Moral of the Story

Can you recall reading a story that made you smile, laugh, cry, fume, fear, and feel all those emotions that refused to leave you even as you forced yourself to try and sleep for the few remaining hours of the night? The emotions that made you want to grab the nearest person and discuss the story to no end, only to realize that everyone in the vicinity had already gone to sleep? The emotions that played on your mind for the next many days, surfacing randomly and unannounced as you went through your routine, triggered by the slightest of memories.

Now, can you also recall the last line of that same story, which said in big, clear letters, “The moral of the story is…”?

If you’re one of those few people who actually answered yes to both questions, there’s a high chance that you might want to write away this article as pompous and self-righteous (which admittedly, it is). But for the other group who read the second question and went “Huh? What…?” – a group that I’m hoping is in the majority – this might just be something you connect with.

For as long as I can remember, the stories that we read in schools – the ones that not-so-subtly taught us about good and evil – ended with a moral of the story. You know, ‘honesty is the best policy’; ‘slow and steady wins the race’; ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’, etc.

Cringe-worthy, I know.

But the fact is, these ‘moral of the story’ stories have reigned children’s literature for the longest time. And as much as I criticize them, they’ve been a favourite of many teachers and parents. Why? Because we as a society tend to believe that children need to be taught values, and that stories are a great medium of doing that. And in a way, that does make sense. After all, a lot of what I've learnt has come from books. And what would be the point of having books for children if they can’t pick up these values through them?

A lot, actually.

Last year, I did a research project on children’s literature, and what parameters are / can be used to determine what qualifies as good children’s literature. I spoke to many writers and editors, and through that process, realized that one of the biggest issues with children’s stories is that they are written for children.

Read that sentence again if you need to.

Let me explain.

When people write a story in general, they write it because they want to tell the story. The basic intent is just that – telling the story. But when people write a story for children, they’re suddenly burdened with the subconscious task of teaching them something. About good. About bad. About choices. About struggles. And while some of these subjects are worth learning about, they come at the cost of the story itself. What results is a struggle, “a battle between instruction and amusement, between restraint and freedom, between hesitant morality and spontaneous happiness” (Harvey Darton).

Basically, the intent to educate overpowers the intent to tell the story.

And that’s tragic, because I loved Neil Gaiman's suggestion that the four words that best capture stories are: “And then what happened?” These words capture the pull of the best stories, the ones that leave you with the thirst for wanting to know what happens next, and the power that stops you from putting the book down.

Replacing those words with “What did we learn from this?” somehow doesn't match up to that excitement. It takes away not just from the story itself, but also undermines the children reading the stories.

The assumption that children need to be taught about good and bad, that they need to be protected from the complexities of difficult decisions, that they need to be presented with a world that exists in black and white, - really undermines the kind of thought they are capable of. An editor captured this by saying, “the happiest things are there in stories and the saddest things are there in stories…just as adults need exposure to them, so do children”.

So then, how does one write for children, really? Starting with a disclaimer that I personally have no experience in this particular field, I’d venture a guess saying: “the way you’d write for anyone”. Begin the story by asking yourself about what story you want to tell, and not what lesson you want to teach. Stop thinking of children as children, because the moment we do that, we dilute the story with the banalities of simplicity that pull out all the shades of colour from it.

But – what happened to the learning? If we say that stories are a great source of learning, how does that happen if we ignore the educational component?

Take the example of Harry Potter (because, let’s face it, how can any blog that I write [particularly one about good stories] be complete without a reference to Harry Potter?) A study found that children who read Harry Potter showed increasing tolerance to cultural diversity, and were less prone to prejudice. In fairness, I can’t vouch for the validity of such a claim, but I can completely see it happening. Who could read the Harry Potter series and escape without respect for people with all kinds of magical and non-magical abilities? Who can claim to love Hermoine and yet hate ‘Mudbloods’? And who can laud Harry's courage without admitting to his fear and anger as well? The book is a great space for grappling with values, but I doubt that J.K. Rowling set off to write these books with an intention to teach children to be good. At least, I hope not.

Think back to some of your favourite books and stories. What did they have? Personally, I think the best stories have it all: the choices, the conflicts, the struggles, the fear, the hope, the anger, the ups, the downs. The stories that stay with you are the ones that draw you into the lives of the characters and make you feel what they do. And watching the dilemmas and successes of the characters can foster empathy and tolerance, and important moments of crisis in the stories can aid emotional and moral development in children. But that development is incidental, not intentional.

An editor summed up these thoughts fairly well: “If you think about an issue and then write a story about it, then it doesn’t seem natural. You might as well write an article then.” Like this post. It’s self-righteous. It’s preachy. It’s presumptuous. But then, it was never meant to be a story.

On People and Stories

I’ve been an avid user of Facebook for many years now (8 to be exact), and I can look back and see how my relationship with this site has changed. It started at the end of my teen years, where the initial source of pleasure resided in the increasing number of ‘friends’ that you had. Over the college years, it moved to witty status updates, the ones that you felt strongly about, and yet also enjoyed seeing the number of likes go up. In the last few years, it’s become more about engaging in fleeting dialogues about social issues around the world – a way to shout out against the injustices and appreciate the nicer events.

But recently, it’s changed again. Now, it’s no longer about national or global issues. It’s not about political or social change. It’s about something that I’ve come to realize is so much more important to me.

It’s about individuals. And their stories.

*************

It started with a simple ‘like’ of the Humans of New York (HONY) page after having read a few of the anecdotes that were shared on it. A few months later, I came across of Humans of Bombay page, and decided to like it too. And then a Humans of Bangalore. And then, one day, I decided to search for ‘Humans of’ on Facebook, and decided to follow almost every page I came across: Humans of Vizag, India, Karachi, Dilli, Delhi, Singapore, Toronto, and probably a few others.

And every day, I found myself waking up to stories of friendship, love, inspiration, tears, struggles, death, smiles, passion – stories that resonated with me no matter which part of the world they belonged to. And each time I read and shared one of those stories (and trust me, there were a lot), I’d find myself thinking – why isn’t this stuff used in classrooms? Why do we read stories that have been created especially for the purpose of education, but ignore the stories where the real education is found?

I mean, imagine a classroom where one such story is shared with students on a daily basis – how much would they open their minds to the diversity that begins in their home and cuts all borders? And imagine the students themselves going out and talking to people and getting such stories – how could they not learn from such a direct and raw experience?

See, the thing is – stories have a power. And I don’t know if this is more true for me than for others, but stories are the only way I’ve ever learnt. The only way I could understand the digestive system was to think about what happens to the morsel of food from the moment it enters our mouth. Ask me to relay any sociological or development theory that I’ve learnt in the last two years, and I’ll draw up blank. But tell me the story of the worker who is forced into slavery by working in the brick kilns of Pakistan (Humans of New York), and I’ll never forget it. I’ve never been able to remember the structure or function of the government that we learnt in civics despite numerous attempts (my dad will attest to that), but the story of the old woman in Vizag who travels daily to the city to sell eggs because her entire family deserted her leaving her with no other source of income – I think I’ll always remember that. 

Increasing research is now suggesting that stories are the best way for a person to learn, because that's how our brains are wired. Think about it - HONY, in a single trip to Pakistan, has probably been able to tell the world more about this country than any history book or media coverage ever could!

And I've been trying to figure out what it is about stories that appeals to me that I can't find through information and data or even my favourite Wikipedia. And I think it boils down to stories being about people. About individuals. They may tell tales of political upheavels and social change; they may be about large events in history; they may be about complicated concepts; but they are still stories of individuals. And crazily enough, as violent and disruptive and thoughtless as we humans seem to be when we act as a group or a mob or a nation, as individuals, we’re very different. We become people who care, people who struggle, people who learn – people who feel. The concept of slavery in the states doesn't hit you as hard until you hear about the stories of individuals who suffered. Why did The Kite Runner become so popular? Not because it had a great plot (which it probably did), but because it gave us all a glimpse into life in Afghanistan from a single person, a glimpse that the media never could give.

And it doesn't matter if it' fiction or non-fiction - it's the story told through the eyes of the person that matters - a story that draws you in, makes you feel the fear and the hope of the protagonist to the extent that you know it'll never completely leave you. I mean, imagine if the Harry Potter books were just a series of events describing the magical world into which this new person has entered to fight the Dark Lord, without us ever experiencing it through Harry's eyes, and feeling his wonder, his confusion, his doubt, his determination?! (Okay, don't imagine that. It's shudder-worthy).

So where does this leave me?

It leaves me with a firm belief in the power of stories, and yet surrounded by textbooks that emphasize historical events and scientific concepts over stories. Sure, the NCERT has attempted to move in the direction of stories, but these stories are still limited, because they focus on creating a fictional story whose sole purpose is to introduce the topic of addition or fractions. They are stories created for a purpose - a purpose of teaching something (a whole other blog post needed on that topic). Whereas the stories that stay with us - the stories of HONY and Harry Potter and The Kite Runner - these are stories that were told just because someone wanted to tell them.

And those are the best kind.

Words

As the words popped up on the screen, the hilarious image floated in his mind, tickling every core of his being. He let out a loud guffaw and started laughing uncontrollably. Clutching his stomach, with a large smile on his face, he took a few ragged breaths before turning to the keyboard to reply.

'Lol'

Killing your Babies

Contrary to what this might sound like, this post is not actually about killing babies. It’s a metaphor. (For those of you who have an obsession with dead babies, I apologize).

This is a phrase that one of my professors in my final year of undergrad told us in class. It was a class on feature writing, and he said that as journalists – or even just writers – sometimes the hardest thing we have to do is learn to kill our babies.

[Stop picturing dead babies. Just stop]

What he meant by that is during the research process, we often stumble across these mindblowing quotes or amazing statistics and bits of information that we feel just needs to be part of our article. Even while writing the initial drafts, we will write certain paragraphs that sound almost perfect. And then there’ll be a knock on our door, and we open it to find a rather annoying visitor: the word limit.

Now, for us carefree writers who write just for the sake of writing, this means nothing. But when you’re writing for a newspaper or magazine, there are major constraints on your space and word count. And so, when you realize that your wonderful article has gone way beyond the given word limit, you’re left with only one choice: start killing your babies.

Pick up that quote that’s so mindblowing, and ask yourself whether it is really adding anything to the story. Look carefully at those amazing statistics and see whether they are really relevant to the overall point you are trying to make. And go back to that almost perfect paragraph and see whether it is really needed to convey the larger point of your article.

And if the answer to any of those questions is negative or even a little doubtful – kill them. Kill your babies.

[Again, I feel the need to reiterate that I am not actually advocating killing real babies…Just in case you were planning to send me hate mail with the subject ‘baby killer’]

And if you think about it, this advice applies not just to writing, but to almost all aspects of our lives (except perhaps parenting). When you need to make a tough choice, check your priorities first. Figure out what’s most important to you, and let everything else slide past. If what you really want is to go for a vacation in order to relax, then perhaps stressing out over small details is not a helpful approach. If being healthy has top priority for you, then just throw the cake aside. If you really just want to spend time with your friends, then pause the TV show that you’re watching and actually step out of your house.

I know, it’s all easier said than done. Nobody said it would be easy. You’re giving up stuff that you really care about – and that’s precisely why it’s called killing your babies.

Try it sometime. It’s good advice.

And now that I’ve enlightened all of you with this ultra-bright piece of wisdom, I’m going to get back to my assignment and continue trying to kill some babies there. 

I Just Want to Write

I want to write something

That will shake people to the core

That will make them think and wonder

And leave them craving for some more

I want to write something

That conveys what I really feel

Where people understand what I want to say

And understand that it’s a big deal

I want to write something

That will change the world

Though they tell me it’s not possible

And there doesn’t exist such a word

I want to write something

That everyone will remember me by

Words that they’ll quote and misquote

Even long after I die

I want to write something

That leaves you feeling inspired

That moves you to take some action

Even if you’re completely tired

I want to write something

That manages to break through this dam

Because writing is all that I have

To make you understand who I am

The Ahmedabad Diaries - Writers are Bastards

As part of Teach for India’s annual retreat, I visited Ahmedabad for three days recently. Much of this time was split between the Gandhi Ashram and visiting communities that Manav Sadhana worked closely with.

The community I visited had been relocated to a bare ground because their houses were demolished by the government without notice. They had been living in make-shift houses, braving the freezing nights of Ahmedabad with bare minimum clothing, and struggling daily with their gnawing thirst and hunger. For me, it was a very unsettling experience, mainly because I was unable to understand my purpose over there. Despite that, as I walked around boiling with suppressed emotions, I realized something:

My eyes involuntarily took in every detail

The colour of the tarp,

The tatters in their clothes,

The remaining brambles that were indicative of the dangerous land they had initially been dumped in, The vastness of the garbage dump next to their camp,

The few utensils they had managed to save

And my mouth hesitantly asked questions

How did they end up here?

How long would they have to stay?

Did they have access to water?

Why couldn’t they find work nearby?

What did they eat daily?

I groped for details, as far as I would allow myself. I wish I could say it was because I cared. Yes I did care, but that was not the main reason why I want to know.

I wanted to know so that I would have something to blog about.

Even as I collected the information, I was sorting it in my head: “this would be good to write about; this is irrelevant; oooh this would make for an interesting topic!”

Because that’s what writers do.

We gather information, sort through it, choose the ‘juiciest bits’ and write those down.

We don’t go into the field to solve a problem or to alleviate pain – we go out to gather details.

We ask, we probe, we observe – hoping every second that the next bit of information will take our article from mundane to brilliant.

We become unfeeling, uncaring bastards who care more about the style of our writing than the subject of it.

We worry more about how a word sounds on paper than how a probing question sounds to the person receiving it.

We ensure that we have the proper pictures that will help tell the story, because that’s our only job.

 We don’t intend to hurt feelings, but if they come in the way of telling the truth, then so be it.

We don’t consciously aim towards poverty porn, but sub-consciously, we know that’s what readers want.

We don’t experience for the sake of experiencing, we experience so that we can pick up every single detail.

During my three days at Ahmedabad, that’s exactly what I did.

My professors at York would have been proud.