01/30/2026
In my ancestral village, Nawanpind Sardaran, distric Gurdaspur, Ouniab, India, there is a young girl who slowly, organically, became my rooftop friend.
Our friendship didn’t begin with conversations. It began with glances, shared sunsets, and the quiet comfort of presence. A few exchanged words here and there. Nothing forced. Nothing hurried.
People around the village, and even near her own home, often say she is “slow” or “theek nahi hai” — not alright. Labels come easily in small places. But sitting on my rooftop, watching her on hers, I saw something else entirely.
Most evenings, she would sit in the sun, eating peanuts, soaking in warmth. There was a gentleness about her — a sweetness that softened something deep inside me. One day, I noticed her knitting. She would knit for a while… then undo it. Knit… and undo again.
Curious, I asked her why.
Her reply was simple and honest:
“Mere paas itni wool nahi hai.”�“I don’t have enough wool.”
At the same time abd over the years, rI have been commissioning knitting, stitching and crochet work from girls and women of the village — women with incredible skill, but limited resources and no access to markets. Leg warmers and caps, glass covers and puniavi suits began taking shape in their hands. Guests at the kothi bought them with genuine enthusiasm, and suddenly, this winter became a warm space of women’s entrepreneurship.
For that, my heart is full of gratitude.
Thank you. Truly.
And then there was Man — my namesake.
Quiet. Shy. Observant.
When I visited her home, I saw something the village never talks about: she was capable, efficient, versatile with household work. Her mother, protective yet hopeful, welcomed me warmly.
I brought Man some wool.
When I expressed my wish that she make me a woollen scarf, her face lit up. There was excitement — the kind that doesn’t shout, but glows softly. Her mother eagerly stepped in to support her.
Today, the scarf is half done. Still in the making. Much like her journey.
As neighbors began meeting through these small exchanges, something unexpected unfolded. I started a young girls’ yoga class. Slowly, mats filled the space. Laughter replaced hesitation.
On Republic Day, we had a yoga session followed by a potluck picnic. The girls — Man included — were lit up. They wanted to dance. The idea amused me, delighted me, and filled me with joy. Watching them step into a space they were claiming as their own was powerful.
We danced.
And guess who was the most expressive dancer of all?
Man.
She danced freely. She chatted. She smiled without holding back.
And beside her, her younger sister — known in the village as “silent” — turned out to be the most talkative, initiating conversations with ease.
That day reminded me of something simple yet profound:
Sometimes people aren’t quiet.
They are just waiting for safety.
Sometimes they aren’t slow.
They are just never given space.
All it takes is a little wool.
A little time.
A little faith.
And suddenly, transformation 💖☮️💖
