Personal Narrative: The Kite Runner

“It may be unfair, but what happens in a few days, even a single day, can change the course of a whole lifetime”- Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

In the summer of 2014, I decided to delve into a kind of entropic calm, when I chose to pick up an internship. I have never really felt at peace unless I was in the most chaotic situation I could find, which is why I went around looking for a hundred different things to do – music, plays, football, debates, anything and everything. My sense of worth has always been intricately woven into what I do and how I do it.

When I began the internship, my motive was to do something worthwhile, learn and have fun. Those jobs made me feel grown up; gave me a semblance of control over my life. But I ended up getting so much more that I

bargained for. I decided who I wanted to be.

My assignment was with Participatory Research in Asia (PRIA). It was simple enough. I was responsible for developing artwork-cartoons, doodles and such for their Internet based module against sexual harassment at the workplace. So, would be sat down daily and given a maelstrom of stories, dialogues, ideas and descriptions, then spend the next six to seven hours whipping up artwork. My ‘process’ was fairly routine. But the best, absolutely the best, part of my day was the hour I spent with my boss, Martha Farrell, discussing, brewing and brainstorming ideas. Each morning, she called me into her office, talked to me and asked for my opinion. Often, she painted me a word picture of what she wanted me to draw and it would all become crystal.

I remember the office being a glass-room in the corner of the office floor, swathed with planners, charts and flurries of pink Post-it notes. She was truly the epitome of the word ‘woman’ – strong, enigmatic and absolute in her beliefs. But she was also kind, sensitive and emphatic. She was brutally honest and had an aura about her that commanded respect; she was everything I ever wanted to be. When she addressed me, I felt important and my ideas made sense to me.

I finished my internship in September and bid farewell to everyone I worked with. They smiled and wished me luck but the ultimate validation was always Martha’s feedback at the end of each day. Done with this internship, satisfied, I moved on to other endeavors.

Almost a year passed and twelfth grade started.

One day I came back from school and found my mother sitting in my room. The air was tense and I asked her what the matter was. She told me that she had some bad news – that she had called the PRIA office for some information and learnt that Martha had passed away. No, not passed away – she had been gunned down by extremist jihadists while on an assignment in Kabul.

Putting into words how that event affected me is probably the most distressing thing I have ever had to do. But the only way to describe it would be a splintering collapse of my conscience. I lost faith in justice or any idea of fairness. Because just one day had ripped apart a family, killed a woman who had so much more to give and taken away my mentor.

Once the shock passed, the anger set in – a sheer rage at the unfairness and futility of it all. What gave them the right to take a life, arbitrarily? One thing led to another and my rage grew into a personal vendetta against unfairness. If I was inclined towards a career in public service before, now, I was downright determined.

And that brings us to today. I am on a mission to make the world better. That, kind of, says it

all.