The Little Star

by Hasika Suresh (India)

Making a local connection India

The Little Star I woke up later than usual this morning and sauntered tiredly to my desk. Feeling stuck, I just wanted to give up on a number of things. I absently pushed aside a dusty pile of unfinished paperwork, revealing a little star-shaped brooch. My hands flew to my mouth as my eyes welled up and my face, broke into the softest smile. It was just the thing I needed to see…. **** I've been thinking about dreams a lot lately. And I couldn't help but reminisce the day I met little Mira. Despite having lived and traversed extensively across the globe, I find my thoughts more often than not revert to that sweltering summer afternoon in the dusty little Goan village of Zari. I had just finished facilitating an art workshop with the children of the village and wearily lifted myself off the tattered mat that spread unevenly across the floor of the mud hut. I wiped my forehead and checked my watch, waiting listlessly for the rusty office rattletrap to whisk me off to the city. As I waited, a vibrant young face with a mischievous glint in her eye emerged from behind the door and snatched my hand. No words were exchanged as this curious little girl led me out of the hut through the winding dirt-road-maze that was her village. We passed numerous thatched homes coloured in pastel hues, lazy stray dogs stretched out deep in blissful slumber and painted geckos that flitted about in bright flashes amidst the rows of rainbow laundry. She led me into a little hut and plonked me onto a bamboo stool even before I could find the words to ask her - what in the world was going on?! The only words she uttered to me before she disappeared into a room was - "watch". Shortly after, the little girl emerged once more, clad in a trendy denim jacket covered in badges and brooches that she wore over her tattered clothes. She turned up the portable stereo in a corner of the room and began to dance. For the next hour, it was all she did. She danced. Within that time and space, she floated like a ray of light that couldn't be contained. She danced like no one was watching, like the all of the world had ceased to exist as we remained trapped inside her little snow-globe of time, conversing only through rhythm and movement. When she finally stopped, I began clapping my hands in disbelief. I was honoured to have witnessed something so pure yet remained confused as to why I was there. Sensing my confusion, the little girl beamed as she introduced herself and said, "I have been watching you teach my little sister every week and I wanted to show you what I could do". She gushed on in her native tongue, Hindi and continued, "I have been practicing tirelessly for a dance competition that our village will be hosting next week. If I do win, I could compete at a national level and train with experts to become a professional dancer. It's my dream - I can't imagine doing anything else". At this point, she removed a brooch from her vest and said, "Open your palms". I did as instructed and Mira placed a little golden star in them. "I want you to have this. To remember me by. And one day when you see me on the telly, I'll be a big star. Okay, didi?". I teared up and smiled as I bundled up her petite frame in my arms. Later that afternoon I rode back to the city, overwhelmed and lost in thought. I thought of little Mira and her dreams of becoming a dancer. She had a gift. A precious one. But more precious was that she had a dream, one she believed in completely. It made my heart sing to know that these little boys and girls living in the middle of nowhere, with close to nothing but the clothes on their back, had dreams. Big, beautiful, golden, starry-eyed dreams. Dreams they believed in and could turn into reality. And for them, that was everything.