My dear Bnaya, this letter was supposed to be written a while back – I have been literally planning this since 2014. More than a decade has passed. This will sound slightly creepy – you don’t know me, but I know you. Gossip Girl is back.
I guess I needed a good reason to stop my daily tasks and start thinking about what to write to you. After all, writing to someone you admire but is dead, is slightly paradoxical. But it still feels right to write this letter, especially as the concluding blog of this Fellowship. Last but not least.
Bnaya, I wish I could have sent this when you were alive, but it took me a few years to understand what I wanted to be growing up. You have been my role model since the age of 18 – the one I looked up to, even without meeting face to face. I remember watching your videos on YouTube on the training of the school for officers in the South. There was something in your sassiness and assertiveness that inspired me right away – I aspired to be a similar cadet to you, and maybe become your female version.
I am not as religious as you were but still resonate with the way you described your life mission to protect others and just keep on questioning the system; to make the system better by asking the hardest questions no one knew how to answer. I tried to be similar to you in different settings during my BA and MSc and asked the hardest questions to the lecturers, but I honestly do not have that insane charisma you had.
My childish sentiments intensified as I imagined graduating from the cadet course and thanking you at the end of it for being my role model (yes, I already saw myself getting the excellence award and giving the speech on behalf of the cadets, in my visionary state of mind).
Sadly, I did not end up getting into the cadet course but was one of the final candidates.
Once I heard of your death, I was deeply sad and overwhelmed – realizing my hero just died, and I won’t be able to meet you in this universe. I took an internal oath, to follow your path and still become your female version, but in my own way. I promised myself to be kinder to others, care for those different from me, and never stop questioning the system.
Since you do not really know me, perhaps I should have given you an intro. But hopefully, you have watched us for some time from the sky, so I will not bore you with AI nonsense. Life has brought me to India, magically – I do not know if it is the meaning of my name, living in Tagore Rabindranath Street in Tel Aviv, or just the desi-driven adventure I have had in the UK that inspired me to follow this dream.
Funny enough, I got so excited thinking I would be part of the Banyan Impact Fellowship, as it reminded me of your name, Bnaya. Telling this to my Bengali friend in London, she looked at me quite awkwardly, but I did not care. I knew it was a sign I was following your path, to question the Western system and explore my vocation in the Indian development sector.
In the last few months, I have been working on tech development in India, integrating AI into waste management and recycling solutions. It cannot get more paradoxical than this – the most desired and unwanted at once. If you followed me this year, I guess you witnessed this clumsy AI researcher observing female waste-workers, carefully navigating Delhi’s slums and colonies, and escaping Diwali firecrackers. This became more challenging without knowing Hindi but I came with naive intentions to save the world. My color got a lot of attention in the narrow alleys of Sanjay Colony. Random residents put on their fancy clothes to sit with me and got excited when I said ‘tumhara naam kya hai’? (One of the only Hindi phrases I am familiar with, excluding Bollywood references).
The last year in India feels like everything is happening all at once. Reaching the highest peaks of international summits, grants, and awards, and then crying at the office when things go wrong or just become too overwhelming. As you saw, since October, things have been really challenging, and I had to hide the core parts of my identity. This was especially difficult for someone like me who always had the biggest national pride. My American accent is far from being flawless, but so is life. I hope you are not too sad up there. I do not know when this nightmare will end but hope to get enough strength to keep on my journey from here.
In India, I have tried to be kinder, more empathetic to people and environment around me, and listen when needed – I found myself wandering in ecological farms, on the outskirts of Delhi, planting seeds and collecting strawberries and then giving AgriTech lectures in a center dedicated to the research of advanced plant virology. Never say never, I guess.
Sometimes living in India got weirder because I did not know what was culturally accepted and how to show my care. Is a shy smile to strangers looking at me good enough, pathetic, or just unsafe? How foreign does my namaste sound? Am I judged for not knowing Hindi, or more when I try to say a few phrases with a funny accent? Is watching Bollywood appreciated, or should I learn more about South Indian cinema? Does wearing a kurta or saree seem culturally offensive or an exhibit of appreciation? Can I ask about modern caste dynamics and approaches without being too intrusive? I do not know if I did all right, but I tried my best to be a kind alien on this precious planet called India.
Did you see the number of parents deciding to name their kids Bnaya to honor your legacy? More than a decade since you left us, but your memory will accompany future generations. I hope to be a leader like you one day and inspire others the way you inspired me. After all, that’s our legacy on Mother Earth.
I do not know if you managed to visit India before you died, but maybe in Heaven, there is a desi section, full of colors, resilience, and courage. Do stop to visit and try the spicy food (Pav Bhaji and Chole Bhature are a must).
Pray for us from above, we need it.
XoXo
Maya
