On Being a Good Human, and Making an Impact

What does that mean to you?

The first funeral I remember attending was a surreal experience.

I was about 8, I think. I got home from school and my mum was dressed in a dark blue sari (which was an oddity in itself, she mostly wore long dresses we called housecoats) and we immediately rushed off to my uncle’s house without a second thought for the day’s homework to be done (another oddity).

The atmosphere was very strange - there were at least a hundred people there, but none of the gaiety that usually accompanies large gatherings of humans.

The mood was somber, and I remember seeing people with tears in their eyes. My own mother seemed on the verge of tears.

We walked in and there were people crying quietly everywhere. I was quite stunned - adults, crying? Something big was afoot.

My 8-year-old brain remembers seeing my aunt - a very strict and stern lady, loving, but scary - collapsed in a chair, looking wilted, deflated, and much smaller than her 1.5m stature. My astonishment turned into something else. If whatev…