Hopping in Hampi
As I limped along attempting to make my way up the mountain just in time to catch the sun set over Hampi, her little hand clutched on to mine.
She looked up at me and smiled. Without a word she pulled me along, and I followed to the beat of her jingling anklets. Through every nook and peak, she waited patiently as I slowly twisted and swivelled my injured limbs around.
One hand on her pot of chai, one hand in mine. One eye ahead, one eye behind.
This one is for you.
The sweet little nine year old who stopped on her way up the mountains in Hampi — where she sells garam masala chai everyday to support her family — to help me, a complete stranger, find the strength to go on.
To Rashmi, who stole my heart while Hopping in Hampi.