MOTHERS ARE THE SALT OF THE EARTH
The jingle of my great grandmother's ankle bracelets always sent a ripple of mischievous urgency through my tiny body, as I ambled towards the shiny, silver bangles around her foot, desperately trying to grap them. I chuckled, and flung myself to the freshly manicured ground, still emitting a pungent smell of recently procured cow dung. Flat on my belly, I crawled, reaching out with my skinny hands, wanting to touch the bangles. And then, in her distinctive, coarse laughter, she would pull her foot away from my reach, leaving me to try again. After several attempts, and countless jingles, I lay on the ground, exhausted and sleepy. Rampat, my great grandmother, would then lift me off the ground and put me in a hammock, shaking me to sleep. My great grandmother had sailed across the waters of mighty oceans to bring me a gift of unrivaled glory. She, amidst untold travails and paths that meandered through valleys and mountains, shouted out aloud, in the beautiful agony of chil...