This isn't really writing related, but I had to pass it on.
It is inspirational, for sure.
It's the story of Bharti Kumari, of Kusumbhara, Bihar.
Makes me feel kind of embarrassed that I'd think of myself as a teacher also.
Inspired me to inflict poetry on y'all.
(Using text from the article)
Bharti Kumari
Under a peepal tree,
her people.
Dalits , from four to ten.
For an hour or so, every day,
the air fills with
the steady rhythm of the alphabet.
Orphaned, found, adopted,
brought up as part of the family
until a loose wire, and fire
killed her new mother,
and brought her a new life.
She has had head lice for nine months
and this has provoked the fever,
but one of her teachers,
a smiling young woman, fondly
acknowledges that she is a middling student,
no more proficient at her studies than her peers.
Wearing her uniform, she eats her roti
in the small room that is a bedroom,
dining room, and living room, all in one.
Ill as she is, as soon as she recovers,
she will resume her role.
There is hope in the little school
under the peepal tree.
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