The Forgotten

Photo: Roberto Schmidt/AFP/Getty Images

The other day I woke up and it was just one of those days when nothing went quite right. The air conditioning was not working and our refrigerator was completely on the fritz. My son, who is perpetually teething or just being "picky" would not eat and my usually sweet daughter was acting like the spawn of Freddy Krueger.

It was NOT a good day.

KENYA

A mother walks twenty miles with her children in her arms. Her husband has died and both she and her youngest daughter have already been raped while on their journey to seek refuge. She is too numb to hurt, she just knows she needs to find water and get her children some food. She has heard that if she makes it to a refugee camp just a little further away, they can find shelter and sustenance and maybe she and her children can make it through this.

Already on the journey they have seen too many frail bodies that have not made it to the destination. The mother averts her eyes and pushes her children, whose blistered feet bleed as they walk mile after mile, just a little further. The sight of blood provides some comfort, because if they can bleed doesn't that mean they are still alive? Her arms grow heavy from the weight of her two youngest boys in her arms as she continues along.

She is tired.

Work was a bitch today. After a busy day of meetings, some good, some not so good, I am ready to sit back with a glass of wine after spending a few hours playing with the kids. The refrigerator repairman came in and told me that it would cost $500 to fix it.

I cringe, especially since the air conditioning breaking at the exact time makes this extremely inconvenient - and yes - financially painful. It's not like I can pick to choose one thing over the other though, right? I mean, what do I ignore, the refrigerator or the air conditioning? As I pull my sticky shirt away from my skin, its clear that there isn't really a choice. Oh, and I need to hit Costco this weekend.

We need more paper towels.

KENYA

We are so thirsty. There is no water. My third youngest son grew more weak and could not walk anymore. He fell to the ground a few miles back. I could not revive him. I could not hear him breathing, but I needed to keep moving with the others.

He is gone.

I hope he is with God.

We walk towards where we have been told there is some water and food. I can't lose another.

By the time I am done with the conference calls and can go start cooking dinner, I realize that I am tired. Pizza again, I think, as I pick up the phone and call our local pizza joint. Heck, we'll even throw some breadsticks in, just to mix it up. Gosh, is that enough food? Let me throw on a salad too.

That should be enough, I think.

KENYA

We are at the camp. We have traveled so far, but there is no water. There is no food. There is nowhere to bathe. There are just so many people, all hoping that they would find their hope for survival here. But we may be too late.

Only three of my six children are still with me. I had to choose some miles back which ones I thought could make the journey with me. I could not lift my eldest daughter. My arms can only hold so much.

My heart can't hold anymore.

There are no tears anymore. There is no water in me, anywhere. I am crying a river inside my heart but how can you cry when you have not had water in so, so long? We keep praying that the rains will come, but they do not.

I have lost three of my children.

I am praying that we can get more food and water at the camps.

My husband and I had a great conversation about how we might contribute more to the world. There are several domestic programs we want to support, but we definitely want to make sure it all makes sense when we do our taxes, so we can claim the right deductions. We should definitely help some international programs as well. Let me look into my company's corporate matching program.

I'll get around to it. Gosh, I hope I still remember tomorrow.

It's going to be a busy day and I have been so stressed.

KENYA

Do people not know how we cry? Can they hear the choked breaths of my children as they breath their last breaths?

If they know, why won't anyone help save us?

If I can save my three remaining children, that should be enough, I think. It's the only thing I pray for now.

***********************************************************************************

As you know if you have been reading my last few posts, I went to the Social Good Summit to learn more about how we can influence change through the use of social media.

During one of sessions on Day 1, I was actually able to watch my cousin-in-law, Dr. Raj Shah, the Administrator for USAID speak about the crisis in the Horn of Africa. He had recently been to the Refugee Camps in Dadaab.

There was a slide you can see on the picture he is sitting in front of. Sadly, he said that the situation was all too familiar for him. The UN estimates 750,000 people are at risk of dying in Horn of Africa if more immediate, aggressive measures are not taken.

"We're on the cusp of a huge amount of deaths in East Africa - it doesn't have to be this way, " says Shah. The situation is further exacerbated by the fact that the current drought in the Horn of Africa are the worst in six decades.

SIX DECADES.

In the picture above, Dr. Shah explained how the mother in the picture was helping her child to eat. The child was so weak that in order to be fed, it had to be done via a nasal tube.

The mother sits next to her child and tries to feed her son. You look at this picture and think to yourself "Is it too late?"

God, I hope for that child, it is not.

What Dr. Shah went on to explain was that earlier that day, that mother had already lost another child.

If you look closely at the bed, he is wrapped up in a sheet on the right side of the bed.

There is a dead child on that bed.

Too. Late.

That picture was up there for a few minutes, but when our eyes stopped focusing on Dr. Shah and the image of the mother and the son, when he pointed out the baby on the bed, there was an audible gasp and then just the sound of silence.

What can you say?

This is happening today. And its so bad that so many will die. The ones who will suffer the most are women and children.

We must not forget these children. Some of us already have. But they are no different than out own children, except perhaps that they are not born in a developed country and they will never have the opportunities that so many of our own will have.

But the opportunity to breathe, drink water and eat seem pretty basic, right?

The opportunity to NOT have to choose which child you allow to die today seems pretty basic, right?

Please look at that picture again and say that you won't accept this.

Please don't accept this.

Kiran

I Say I Want a Revolution

"I am not an optimist, I am a prisoner of hope." - Archbishop Desmond Tutu

I am headed home today after two full days at the UN Foundation’s Social Good Summit, hosted in partnership with Mashable & Ericsson at the 92^nd Street Y in New York City.

I was offered a free press pass and entry into the Digital Media Lounge, because for some reason, there was a perception that more than ten people actually read my blog. Not one to argue or to point out that most of the readers are my family and the others are just people who are too nice to not support my endeavors in writing, I jumped on the opportunity.

There were so many compelling reasons to go. When I saw the agenda, I gasped out loud. Tell me you wouldn’t too?

Check it out.

The focus of the Summit was about expanding awareness for Socially “good” causes while using “social” mediums. Understanding the game changing implications this creates in raising international awareness.

Twitter. Facebook. Blogging.

We are at a place in our society where we are enabled by technology and people's desire to "connect" where we are looking at a true democratization of information. We are not beholden to stuffy men in conference rooms determining our fate - on some level, we are - but the reality is that people are empowered through social platforms in a way like never before.

This is where you start a revolution, my friends.

Revolution.

I checked in at the Summit on Monday and made my way to the Digital Media Lounge, where I met several journalists, bloggers and had an opportunity to rub shoulders with some of the Summit Speakers.

The conference started with a bang, with none other than Ted Turner taking the stage. I had never heard him speak before and was blown away by his wit, his genuineness and his complete "irreverence" when talking about individual and corporate responsibility towards social good programs.

I also had this strange desire to go up onstage and sit in his lap and call him Grandpa. He was just so darn cute! But yes, I know that this would have been odd and I would not only have been kicked out of the Summit before it hardly started.

It also is not lost on me that Ted Turner looks nothing like either of my grandfathers, both of whom were very wonderful Indian men. Ted Turner is pretty amazing, alright. But he is not Indian.

So that was odd too.

Here are some of the gems I was able to capture when I wasn't snorting up my coffee:

On Nuclear Weapons:

"The world is too nice of a place to blow up."

Word, sir.

Word.

On Climate Change & Sustainability:

"More should be expected from us. Clean renewable energy IS possible."

"I'd rather have a nuclear power plant than coal. One might kill you & one WILL kill you for sure."

On Creating World Influence:

"You can't make people like you by bombing them."

"Instead of sending in troops, let's send in doctors, engineers and scientists."

Makes sense, right?

"It costs the US 1 million dollars for one soldier a year in afghanistan - It's crazy! It made sense in the middle ages. There was no TV."

On Individual Wealth:

"My goal is to leave my children enough to cover my funeral expenses."

That will be some snazzy funeral, Mr. Turner.

"Rich IS better. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You have to be able to afford dessert."

Why I wanted to hug him and pinch his cheeks:

"We have to make it together or we are not going to make it at all." Amen, sir.

I guess the biggest message I took away from Mr. Turner's speech (other than that he is really cute, like a little teddy bear - but richer) and something that I kept thinking about was one of my favorite quotes from Mother Theresa:

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other."

I will be continuing a recap of some of the most memorable moments of the Summit for myself. Hope you stick around to hear more about it.

Kiran

A World Of Good - Social Good Summit in NYC

For the past two years (give or take), I have blogged about topics close to my heart. Some close and personal, but often times a take on the polarities of life.

The opportunities I have been given as an American which my cousins in the village in India may not have had.

The day to day conveniences (water), liberties (freedom, the right to safely LIVE without the constant threat of rape or sexual debasement).

The fact that any hunger I have felt in my life has been self-inflicted, never because I just needed.

That the images I see of children who are living with the realities of hunger, violence and fear every day seem to far away.

But in a world so connected by images, by knowledge, by technology and opportunity, we are also in a place we have never been before.

Our awareness of these issues is there. There is no reason for us to turn our backs on these realities anymore. You can change the channel, you can go to a new website. You can ignore tweets and you can pretend that its not happening.

You can try, anyway.

Let me know how that goes.

I am at the Social Good Summit in NYC, sponsored by the UN Foundation, Mashable and Ericsson. Here is the agenda.

The speakers list is incredible, kind of surreal.

Ted Turner. Lance Armstrong. Rah Shah, the USAID Administrator. Christy Turlington, Founder of Every Mother Counts. Mandy Moore. Ami Dar, Founder of Idealist.org, Scott Harrison, Founder of the charity water.

Elie Wiesel.

Archbishop Tutu.

This is NOT a full list.

Did I mention I get to see Elie Wiesel speak?

I am blown away.

I am here for inspiration. I am here because I care. I believe we can make a difference.

Will you be inspired with me?

I will be live tweeting from 1 - 6 each Monday and Tuesday - hoping to share this amazing experience with you. We all have the ability to use our connection to the world to help, to create awareness and to make real and irrefutable change.

Join me.

Kiran

To read my more Masala Chica-esque tweets, follow me @kferrandino. For tweets related to measuring social & digital media on humanitarian programs, follow me @measurethisgirl.

My Blanket From Brooklyn

A warm blanket. Your favorite sweater. The jeans which could be called fashion catastrophes, and you just KNOW instantly qualify you as a Glamour "DON'T" if anyone ever caught you in public with a camera (especially when combined with that comfy but not quite trendy sweater) which you just can't throw away. They comfort you in their yielding softness, how they give to your every step and move and have been with you for so darn long.

These are all things of comfort. That bring me enormous happiness.

A few weeks ago, I saw one of my oldest friends, Danielle.

Danielle and I have been friends since we were in the third grade. When I first saw her enter the schools of my elementary school hall, I was a bit awestruck and perhaps a little jealous. She had this long dirty blonde hair that went all the way down her back and miracle of all miracle, no frizz. I self-consciously pushed my own hair back off of my forehead, trying not to focus on the random curls springing all over my head that could hardly be called pretty at the time as I went to introduce myself.

(I would later come to learn that my hair could, in fact, be pretty, but I had not yet discovered that running a brush through spiral curls 100 times a night might work for Marcia Brady. Not so much for me.)

As I drew closer, I observed her big blue-green eyes which boasted the longest lashes I had ever seen. I had already begun to question how fair God was at the age of 8, and this just created a whole new list of questions. My girl crush could have ended there except that when I heard her voice, it cinched the deal. It was like listening to an exotic bird.

"Are you new?" I asked her.

"Yeah," she said. Except when she said it was more like, "Yeyah-uh."

"Where are you from," I asked.

"Brooklyn." Except when she said it, Brooklyn sounded like the coolest place in the world because when she said it there were at least three or four additional OOOs in the word Brooklyn.

"Broooooklyn."

That borough of New York City lost its anonymity at that moment and I realized what a special place it must really be. Staten Island had NOTHING on Brooklyn, I realized.

To solidify our friendship I tried to sometimes mimic my new friend. When she had to go to speech lessons because she couldn't say the letter "r" at the end of her sentences, I also decided to go on strike against the letter preceding "S" in the alphabet.

"Four" became "Faw."

"Year" became "Yeay."

We also cursed a lot. But I don't remember whose fault that was. I think that one was mine, but I'll blame Brooklyn.

Danielle had a sophisticated taste palate. This meant she tried all the Indian food I put in front of her. I thought it was normal for kids to bring things like sesame breadsticks, fresh mozzarella, prosciutto and genoa salami in for lunch because that's what came out of her brown paper bag.

I went home and complained to my parents that I just wanted to be "normal" like my other friends. Danielle was not the only one of Italian heritage in the group and I lamented the fact that I couldn't have normal dinners like them. You know, like pasta e fagiole or homemade italian gravy. (Gravy is what real Italians call sauce. And it tastes NOTHING like Ragu).

As Danielle and I solidified our friendship over the years, I was often exposed to the wonders of her mother's amazing Italian cooking. I learned how to twirl spaghetti with the help of a spoon and it eat it the proper way under the tutelage of her Irish father. She was there to help my through my first crushes (always unrequited). I was there for her every time (it was frequent) a guy liked her.

I was a nerd. She was a cheerleader. I was a runner. She didn't like to sweat. I still hadn't gotten a hold of my hair. She could still walk out of the shower looking perfect.

It just added to the Brooklyn mystique.

I spent many a summer day cavorting in her in-ground pool (Could she BE any cooler?) and some of my best childhood memories are intrinsically tied to her. Some of my saddest as well. Some of my most embarrassing.

She saw boys call me terrible names. Names that sometimes made me cry. Tell me that I was ugly and brown, a nerd and that they would never date a Hindu. She hugged me through those and was my rock when I needed her.

I saw her have the worse nosebleed of her life as we were on the school bus one day with nary a tissue in sight and only our nasty ass gym t-shirts to stop the blood-flow. (She was 13 - no we did not do coke, although we had a preference for Coke Classic).

She has wiped my tears for me. I have wiped hers. At some point her tears are mine and mine hers.

I guess that's the best way to think about friendship.

She is my blanket in a lot of ways. My comfy sweater. The pair of jeans that always make me feel like a million bucks, no matter what fashion is in that year.

But don't get me wrong, she is not an outdated pair of Levis. She is 'still' smoking hot.

I saw Danielle a few weeks ago when I really needed an old friend. Seeing her and feeling the comfort from her hugs lifted me up on a day when I really needed to be lifted. When I saw her face that day, my emotions were free to come to the surface and we talked and talked - about everything, nothing and so much that means nothing to anyone but us - all at the same time.

She brought her two daughters with her and as I watched our children playing together and hugging and laughing with reckless abandon, I felt enormous joy in seeing both me and Danielle in the eyes of our children.

I felt a tug on my heart as I realized how special my bond is with her and how lucky I am to still have this friend in my life.

I hope that one day, our kids know that kind of friendship and that kind of unconditional love and support from a friend in their life. The friend who knows you knows your voice well enough to know when "I'm fine," is anything but. The friend, who no matter how much time goes by, is there for them.

Thanks for being my blanket, Danielle. I love you, old friend. No matter the distance between us, you are always in my heart. Your like a sister, from another mother (aw Fran, you will always be a kind of mother to me. You're just my italian mama ;-).

Thank you for always being a part of my life.

Love,

Kiran

“Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.” - Anonymous

P.S. I wrote about Danielle a year and a half ago when she was going through a time where she needed to be lifted. I used an alternate name at the time to respect her privacy, but would like to let everyone know who read that post at the time that her youngest is doing immensely well and is just as precocious, lovable, independent and beautiful as we all prayed she would be. Thank you for your prayers at that time.

The following is a photo montage:

Our friends, Monica, Danielle and Me. Notice how she is still my friend despite the inappropriate use of camouflage as a fashion statement. She REALLY loves me. Monica? Not so sure - that's maybe why she stood on the other side.

Some of my favorite high school friends are in this picture. Gwendolyn, Karen, the one who is about to take flight in the center is none other than ME, Danielle, June, Becky.

Danielle and I are in the top right. Notice that the volume of my hair (naturally) is about 4 times the volume of hers. Its like I stole her supply of mousse for a year and decided to use it for that shoot.

Never Forget What We Promised Not to Forget

Last week, in the days leading up to 9/11, I read several Facebook status updates from friends saying that they didn't want to remember and didn't want to be reminded through self-important status messages about that day 10 years ago.

I do not fault them. I can understand, especially if they lost someone that they loved that day. Sometimes you can't stomach to remember and relive something so painful. Especially when you have rebuilt and recalibrated your life.

Of course, there were also those who said they did not want to remember, because as a result of that day, the United States has become involved in two wars that have taken so many more American lives.

And I can understand that too.

But in honoring those who died on 9/11, there is something else we honor. It is that for that day, we were Americans together, equalized in so many ways. We were not Republicans or Democrats. We were not rich or poor. We were not Christians or Jews or Hindus, Buddhists or Muslims.

The planes carried not only Americans, but people of all citizenship, as did the towers. Their pain was something we watched in horror, helpless in so many ways.

So why do we say, "Never Forget"? Its certainly not to remember the hate crimes which rose across the United States in the weeks following, against Americans who looked like they could be of Islamic descent. Its certainly not to remember the words of those like Ann Coulter, calling the widows of 9/11 and the surviving children things I can't comprehend.

Those are not our shining moments as Americans, but perhaps in a way, we should also remember those things - to remember that amidst the consciousness created that day, there are those who gain power and manipulate vulnerability to create greater hate.

We are capable of shining. We are capable of rising.

But yes - there are those amongst us who are always capable of hating. And when you are surrounded by that, it does stunt healing. It does stunt understanding.

It stunts us being able to survive something like this with the grace this country showed on 9/11, should it occur again.

If we can't keep rising, those who espouse hatred such as the Glenn Becks and Ann Coulters of this world win.

There is a fine line between living in fear and creating it. Those who create it for us are very skilled at playing at our weaknesses.

But Americans are not weak. Remember THAT from that day.

That I will never, EVER forget.

And if we fight hatred with weakness and acquiescence rather than consciousness and love and the continual honoring of those we lost, than we are shells of what we were that day.

And we HAVE lost.

We have lost the spirit of the Americans on United Flight 93 who bravely took control of their flight to ensure the terrorists did not succeed in taking down another American institution.

We have lost the spirit of the teams of selfless firemen and rescue workers who risked everything in the hopes that they could save ONE MORE LIFE.

We have lost the spirit of all of the dreams and hopes that died that day.

And those hopes and dreams were not of hatred. They were of lives unfulfilled, of dreams that did not come to fruition.

Let's honor those dreams by not playing into the hatred and fear-mongering that so many moved towards in the days following that event.

The video below is one that resonated to me. Sadly, unlike most things Jon Stewart, I did not laugh, only because it was too much of a reflection of what emerged by some the days following 9/11. This is WHY we can't forget though. Please DO NOT let these people become the self appointed voices for the victims of that day.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
Coming Soon - The Daily Show Remembers 9/13/2001
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog The Daily Show on Facebook

Honor them every day. Not just on the next 9/11 anniversary. But in all of your humanity, every day.

Humbly,
Kiran

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." - Mother Theresa

Lost Treasures

When I first started blogging, a few ago (and much more zealously than I can pretend to keep up with nowadays) I made blogging friends with an incredible woman named Anna.

Writers connect, support and live alongside each other in the blogging world. Sometimes we visit each other because we love each other's writing. Other times we creep to each other's sites and just as silently creep away, keeping a vigilant eye on our friends, but perhaps not feeling worthy to comment on the particular post of the day.

One of my first blogger friends was Anna See (a pseudonym) from "An Inch of Gray." She lost her 12 year old son last week, Jake, during the floods that overtook Northern Virginia.

I don't ask you to comment here today. I don't know what you believe in, but if you have faith in something, I would appreciate that you raise a prayer, a hope, a wish - a light for this young boy.

And this lovely, amazing family.

Its crazy how quickly our lives change. A missed step, a road not taken. Life is full of sliding door moments that can change the substance of our lives in seconds. How I wish that those seconds were different.

There is nothing to take from this post except an ask from you that you hug your children harder and say a prayer for a family that needs to be lifted right now.

When someone you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure. ~Author Unknown

XOXO,

Kiran

P.S. Comments are turned off. Please say a prayer instead. Thank you, so very humbly.