I learned today that our mother never had a doll as a little girl. No one ever gave her one. This little detail in a girl’s life stunned me. Our mother, who was more beautiful than any doll, gave us so many dolls, and spoiled us like little dolls, never had a doll. This photograph is of her first doll, Meera, which she purchased as an adult. I asked my father why and he said he didn’t know. He simply said thinking about it always made him cry. When he practiced Community Medicine as a young resident, he did a study on children in South Indian villages and what toys they played with. The results broke down to broken dolls, other broken toys – simply heartbreaking overall. In the course of our cross-country move, and boxing up the aftermath of death in general, we have given away so many pieces of our home, largely because we could not carry them with us, like her. And I realize now how important that is. Poverty often exists beyond our imagination.
Poverty Exists Beyond Our Imagination