SHWETA'S DREAM

The worn hardcover book lay open on Shweta's lap, its spine cracked and its pages yellowed with age. The sun, slanting through her bedroom window, cast a warm glow on its faded illustrations of strong, independent women from historical tales. Unlike the glossy pages of magazines her friends flipped through, these stories held a power that transcended fleeting beauty trends. Shweta traced the portrait of Aishwarya Rai, her fingers lingering on the actress's confident expression. In her own reflection staring back, she saw not a twelve-year-old girl with messy black braids and a bookish nose, but a miniature Aishwarya Rai in her own right.
Every Sunday afternoon, while the aroma of chai simmered in the kitchen, Shweta would escape to her reading haven – a nook under the mango tree in their backyard. It was adorned with borrowed library books and carefully preserved historical biographies, each one a portal to a different world. Here, Shweta imagined herself gracing the silver screen, delivering powerful performances, and inspiring millions. She'd stand tall, declaiming lines from her favorite plays, her voice echoing through the rustling leaves.
One day, her grandfather, visiting from their ancestral village, found Shweta reciting verses under the mango tree. A twinkle lit up his eyes as he watched her passionate delivery. "Ah, my little star," he chuckled, pulling out an old leather-bound book of ancient Indian epics. "These tales will fuel your fire, Shweta."
Years flowed by like the Ganges. Shweta traded historical biographies for philosophical treatises and scientific explorations, her knowledge growing with each page turned. The smell of aged paper mingled with the scent of her mother's jasmine incense, filling the air around her as she devoured book after book. Her bookish nose remained a constant, a reminder of the girl who found solace in stories.
Finally, the day arrived. Shweta stood on a stage, not adorned with a crown, but draped in the confidence gleaned from countless stories of courage and wisdom. The familiar anticipation crackled as she addressed the audience, her voice carrying the weight of knowledge and the echoes of the characters who had shaped her. In that moment, Shweta knew it wasn't just knowledge she was sharing, but the power of stories, the ability to inspire and empower.
Whether she won the competition that day or not wasn't the point. Years later, clutching the worn leather-bound book, Shweta stood tall, not on a stage, but in a bustling library, surrounded by eager young minds. She shared her journey, her voice ringing true as she spoke of the transformative power of stories. The well-worn book lay open on the table, its pages whispering tales of resilience and adventure. In the eyes of the young faces before her, Shweta saw the same yearning, the same spark she once held. And Shweta knew, she wasn't just a former competition winner; she was a model, proving that stories, like ancient epics, held the wisdom of generations, waiting to be discovered and shared.
- WILLIAMSJI MAVELI