Here’s mine. What an amazing way to pay tribute to Alan Kurdi, and to the many refugee children who are caught in the trap of homelessness. It’s unimaginable what they are going through and the efforts required to rebuild their lives for a better future. “Sea Prayer” made me play a small part in redefining the hope for these little ones. Even though this is not a full-length novel, the intention is what inspired me to be a part of this. Do grab your copy too.
Found this from a page I follow..
An off from work on a weekday is truly a bliss. I slept like a log the entire day. It’s when I woke up in the evening, I realized how much I was deprived of sleep.
I made myself some coffee and as usual sat down to relax in my small balcony garden. It was already dark and I could hear the laughter of kids playing downstairs and a group of women chanting prayers on the other side.
When you are surrounded by buildings there isn’t much to see.
But in the dark, I saw this little creature watching me.
In a wink, I was taken back to my childhood memories with my cousins. Seeing a helicopter butterfly (that’s what we called it as kids) always fascinated us. They came in different colors and usually found in groups. We’d work hard to catch them, hold it for few seconds and then let it fly.
This one was a different view, without the colors still beautiful.
Language, considered to be the most common way to communicate and converse. When left to a completely new place without the fluency of the local language, it leads to a fear for survival and the dire need to know the basics.
It has been no different for me. I’ve always dreamt spending my time in social work and getting connected with the local community in need. But, how will I converse with them has been the question that goes on, in the back of my mind.
My grandma however has been a perfect example for me that language isn’t a barrier in conversing. After spending her lifetime at her native, she willingly accepted the opportunity to travel and stay with her children and their families, spread across different states of India.
Our house was situated in the outskirts of a little town. And the people who surrounded us were farmers who owned huge acres of land and spent most of their time taking care of them.
The owner of the land was a lady, aged probably same as grandma. When she was on her usual visits to the farm which was near our house, she never missed an opportunity to talk to my grandma. Both didn’t had a common language to talk, my grandma spoke in her native and the old woman spoke in gujarati.
After she would leave , we used to ask grandma, what were you two talking about. And to our surprise, grandma always had a perfect answer to it with details around their conversation.
Well, to this day it still remains a mystery how they made it work. Even though, both of them left for their Heavenly abode they continue to inspire us with these memories of them.
And here she is.. Our hero.. ❤ ❤