I remember it like it was yesterday—my grandmother and I, struggling to carry fifteen blankets, bundled up in our arms as we made our way to an all-girls Sikh orphanage in Mohali, Punjab, India.
At the time, it felt a little silly—almost embarrassing. I worried that someone from my school might see me and laugh. As a child, I didn’t yet understand the depth of kindness and the power of giving.
When we arrived, I stepped off the rickshaw, dust clinging to my shoes. The headmistress greeted us with warmth, her gentle nod conveying a silent gratitude. She led me inside, through a narrow hallway, until we reached a modest T.V. room, where about a hundred girls sat in neat rows, their eyes fixed on a flickering game show—the younger ones up front, the older ones sitting behind. Their chatter filled the room, a hum of youthful energy and innocence.
The headmistress called out fifteen girls, gesturing for them to follow us to the porch. I clutched the blankets tightly, then one by one, placed them in each girl’s hands. Some smiled shyly, others simply clung to their new blankets as if they were treasures. But at that moment, I didn’t feel much—I was just doing what I was told.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a small face peeking through the doorway. A little girl, hesitant yet curious. The moment she realized I had seen her, she darted away, disappearing behind the shadows of the hallway.
Something about her stirred something deep within me. I turned to the headmistress and asked about her.
“Her name is Asees,” she said softly. “Her father left her here. She doesn’t speak much.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. A child, abandoned. Alone in the world, longing for love but too afraid to ask for it.
I wanted to connect with her. The headmistress had mentioned that she loved sweets—particularly Dairy Milk Bubbly, a chocolate bar that, by pure coincidence, happened to be my favorite too. Reaching into my small purse, I pulled out a bar and set out to find her.
I spotted her, sitting in a corner, clutching her knees. She was too shy to speak, too afraid to trust. Slowly, I knelt down beside her and offered her the chocolate with a warm smile.
For a moment, she hesitated, her tiny fingers lingering in the air before finally accepting it. And then, in the softest voice, she whispered,
“Thank you, Didi.”
(Didi means Sister)
No one had ever called me that before. In that moment, everything changed for me.
I realized then that charity wasn’t just about giving—it was about acknowledging, seeing, and embracing the forgotten. It wasn’t about fifteen blankets or a bar of chocolate. It was about love, dignity, and human connection.
That day, a seed was planted in my heart—a commitment to never turn away from those in need. And that seed would one day grow into Gur Aasra USA, a mission dedicated to ensuring that no child feels unseen, unloved, or forgotten.