NEW DELHI, INDIA, 2002Staring wide-eyed out of the car windowI look down at the dusty bodies of children clustered below me.Their hair is streaked with dust and grimeTheir skin darkened to a crisp by the intensity of the broilingsummer sun.Their writhing hands clutch at the shiny silver metal of our carGrabbing hungrily at the colorful juice boxes my parents offerfrom the windows.

I know I should be enjoying the bustling world around me,but somehow I can’t.The road is a blur of color and life;Vendors shout from their stallsAdvertising a rainbow of colorful fruits and vegetablesOr fine cloth dyed sunset orange, rose pink, indigo.Sweat clings to their dark skin as they haggle and arguewith customers passing byOr just catch up on the latest gossip.Chickens strut through the crowd like confident butlers;A cow slowly ambles its way through the people.Despite the crowd the blasting honks of cars’ horns soundas they force their way through,Shiny metal islands in a sea of bodies.

But I am taking in none of this;My eyes are riveted to the children.I catch sight of a girl about my age,Seven,Her dark hair pulled back in a messy braid,Clutching the grubby hand of a wriggling two-year-old.Seeing the look of amazement and longing that fills her eyesAs her gaze sweeps over our carI offer her one of the juice boxesWith trembling fingers.She grabs itImmediately handing it to her little sister.Just watching the little girl inhale the sweet drinkIts contents spilling from her mouth and running down her chinlike a thousand riversI think of all the times I’ve stormed out of the room cryingafter losing a game of checkers,Argued with my brother about who had to go firstfor piano lessons,Made faces when my parents made me eat vegetables.I can remember those times when my mom got angry,Yelling, “Don’t you understand, there are children dyingin the world?”Looking down at the thin, hungry bodies of the childrensurrounding meAt the toddler devouring the juiceAt the grateful look the girl gave meI realized that,For the first time,I did understand.