R.I.P. Nelson Mandela – My Hero

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I first learned about the atrocities of Apartheid when I was in sixth grade. Many moons ago. But I remember the awakening as one that cost me many nights of sleep. I struggled with how at a time in history after so many racist episodes like Hitler’s Nazi Germany or American Slavery had been long abolished, Apartheid could exist. And persist.

As a young person, I felt helpless to know how to change the world, but I began by educating myself. Finding all the resources available at the library (life before Google,) I devoured all the books, memoirs, novels, and movies on the topic of South Africa. Two will always stay with me: Sarafina that starred Whoopi Goldberg as a South African teacher and a Barbara Walters’ 20/20 special interviewing white and black Afrikander children. The latter blew me away as these young white kids spoke about their black neighbors as if they weren’t even human. Simply put, Mandela coined the truth when he said, “No one is born hating another person because of the color of their skin… People must learn to hate.”

As a high school peace-junkie of sorts, I marched against Apartheid, wrote letters to the newspapers, and penned the words, “Free South Africa” on my jean cut-offs. And I recall like it was yesterday the time when a fellow student jeered at the words on my shorts, asking, “Free them from what?” and then laughing because he never wanted to know the answer. He just wanted to poke fun and embarrass me.

I didn’t respond. Not verbally anyway.

Mandela and his choice to stay in prison even when he could have complied with the government moved me more than any modern-day act of peaceful rebellion. Because his freedom meant little if his people were still mistreated and imprisoned by a system that denied basic human rights.

One of the highlights of my short life thus far happened shortly after the news of Mandela’s release from prison. With my dad and best friend, we attended Mandela’s speaking event at Tiger Stadium, and I cried the moment he emerged from the curtains and took the podium. Before he spoke a word, I cried like a baby, because he symbolized something far greater by being there than even his words could say.

He was walking freedom. A million prayers answered. And hope alive.

President Obama said it well when he described Nelson Mandela as a man who showed what a life led by hope instead of fear can look like. Mr. Mandela, your life lived for others and your quest to not give up will stay with me forever. Rest in Peace, man of peace.

You are loved. You will be missed.

May the lessons you taught—with your words and your life—live on.

Change and Charge – AIF Awards Gala 2013

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Shimmer of swaying saris, crisp rustle of tuxedos and Nehru Suits, Masala Mama in her navy blue business attire walked into the Central Park Ballroom at the New York Sheraton with one goal in mind: to find a story. Disclaimer up front—I am not a journalist. I’m just about people, and I love hearing their stories. And if given permission, to share them. In order to touch, tickle and transform. That’s what the waterfalls of this life do for me, and I’m all about sharing. When I find something or someone wonderful, how dare I hoard my treasure chest.

Attended the Reception at the American India Foundation (AIF) Awards Gala last night and woke up still thinking about the stories I heard. The people I met. The laughter shared, the bridges crossed and the bridges built. In the midst of conversation and clinking glasses, I was reminded of the sweet taste of new friends and fresh dreams. And what dreams look like when they become a reality.

American India Foundation’s mission is “to accelerate social and economic change in India.” The evening was dedicated to three such individuals: namely, Ajay BangaAmartya SenRadhika Roy, and Prannoy Roy.

All four recipients continue to contribute to social and economic justice, but I wanted to meet Ajay Banga. I had read about his travels to South Africa and the catalyst of change Mastercard has become in a country on its road to recovery, and I looked forward to hearing his thoughts on life there, Post-Apartheid.

Spotted Mr. Banga when the crowd had thickened, and a swarm of fans surrounded him instantly, cameras flashing overhead. One camera. Photographs were strictly prohibited so I tucked away my iPhone and vowed to make eye contact. As I weaved my way past the hustle and bustle, I thought to myself, what am I going to say to the CEO of such a prosperous company that will cause him to give me the time of day. I considered telling a white lie.

“Hi, I’m a reporter from CNN and this tiny interview will air internationally tonight. You know you want to talk to me.” Don’t iReports count?

I settled for, “Hi. What are you drinking tonight?” Continue reading