Category Archives: International

Climate Concert

Climate Concert

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, Bengaluru, India.

we had had a scorching summer
and every AC in the house-
hold was on all the time
but it wasn’t hard for us
like it was for the farmers
who longed for rain, for crops
that he had sowed in summer.
at last it was, finally, June
and we gathered on the balcony
hoping to see nature’s finest performance
raindrop musicians, thunder-clapping audience
spotlighted by lightning, the aroma rising
from the loamy soil of Earth.

My little brother was most eager
to see rain falling, to do
what the rest of us have done
to race through the puddles, to
make paper boats and sail them
to run barefoot in the water, that
icy tingle shocking his little legs
to taste those cool, clean drops
and to drink steaming hot chai*
and to eat bhajia** at the end
but it did not rain, like
it was supposed to, and he
grew despondent, sad, waiting for rain
each day, his eyes searching for
those welcome clouds, to bring rain
to this parched, peppery, dry earth.

And finally, it did, though not
at the time dictated by nature
and we did not let him go out
he asked us why, and we
told him about climate change and
fossil fuel, pollution and everything else
that was happening these days to
Nature, and he grew angry, and
blamed the older generation, for
being greedy, plundering loot from nature
leave behind nothing for his generation
and asked us what stories he
would tell his grandchildren. Of technology?

*Chai is Indian spiced tea, made especially by boiling the tea leaves with milk, sugar, and cardamom, etc.
**bhajia is a type of fritter originating in the Indian subcontinent. It is made from spicy hot vegetables, commonly onion, and has several variants.
We often enjoy these during the monsoons.

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, grade 9, Bengaluru, India. She adds: “I am originally from the State of Kerala, but I was born and raised in Bengaluru, Karnataka. I can speak Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, and Kannada, along with English. I started writing in 3rd grade, beginning with a poem about a playground. I serve as the Editor-in-chief of our school magazine. I understand the impact writing has when it comes to spreading the right messages.
“I love writing and reading about everyday things that I can relate to. I generally do not follow a strict form in my poems, because I get more room for creativity… Through my poems and prose, I like to give voices to those silent and mundane events that play a huge role in our everyday lives.”

Ode to Backyard Gardening

Ode to Backyard Gardening

Lipless mouth of the earth—she has planted her many clocks
The ground is pregnant in too many places
with tiny empresses on her wrist 

Her hands weed out the thyme; time is a spool; an autumn seamstress of patience
A tundra tending architect
Club bouncer of biomes

Find her; search her
thaw her out—
her belly has swollen too big

Her nurturing placenta caskets; pulping over; the collection, 
Of everything inside her, childish and buried;
Asphyxiated paper cut-out dolls
Frosting over

Ask them; flax and psyllium
Aren’t fathers equal to mothers?
As pistil is to stamen
Tell me, Fertilizer and measuring tape of sacrifice

Mother has become a statue and we no longer wait,
Waiting is for summer, when she is an ant mound

And we bring her saffron offerings
And a whistle for her feet

So that she blesses this house that waits for
No one and nothing but garden gnomes and
Wrist watches

Underground, father doesn’t know how we exist
He knows only that we are boundless
Citizens of space debris

Father is our earth monger 
Soil for soul

—Rose Haberer, Canada. She writes: “My name is Rose Haberer. I am sixteen years old from Toronto, Canada. My family has roots in Poland, Lithuania and South Africa. My writing is inspired by feminism and the authors I love such as Kelly Link, Jennifer Egan, Mona Awad, Joan Didion, and Sylvia Plath—along with the women in my life who have led me to write about the struggles and complexities of femininity.

Overwhelmed by thoughts of climate disaster, I often find myself flooded with emotions that I need to excise through artistic expression. In this piece, I reflect on how nature functions within my family, how the ecosystem in my backyard is tended to, and how my family members each have roles within that ecosystem, both functional and emotional. In the piece, I view the members of my family as belonging to the garden, reflecting how we are all children of nature.

Writing transcends the mundane and breaks conformity and it is something that I hope to continue to do for the rest of my life.”

Nimbu Pani, Homemade Lemonade

Nimbu Pani, A Cupful of Summer

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India.

How to make a cupful of summer
Recipe for Nimbu Pani—homemade lemonade

Step 1
Sunshine squeeze
Get two lovely lemons, the
cheery colour of sunshine
and of everyday joy, and
squeeze the lovely tang
into your cupful of summer.

Step 2
Sweet memories
Summer won’t be summer
without galore memories made.
Add plenty of sugar crystals, so
each sweet moment may last forever,
preserved in your cupful of summer

Step 3
Sun’s hot!
The days are rather long now
with scorching, afternoons
to rival the sun’s hot temper
add a smidgen of spice, salt, and mint
make your cupful of summer exciting

Step 4
Serve summer
Pour water in, and stir well, let everything
blend in well together, remember without it
your summer will be plain water
days dripping like water drops, monotonously
but now you have (nimbu pani), a cupful of summer

Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India. She adds: “I am originally from the Indian state of Kerala, but I was born and raised in Bengaluru, Karnataka, and I am going to 9th grade next year. I can speak Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, and Kannada, along with English. I started writing in 3rd grade, beginning with a poem about a playground… My poems are forthcoming in StoneSoup magazine, and I was a blogger and website committee member there. Additionally, I have received a few honorable mentions for my pieces. I was the editor in charge of the school magazine last year, and I have won prizes at the GetLit Poetry Fest and Spin a Yarn contest.

“Nimbu Pani—A Cupful of Summer” is about homemade lemonade, a beverage everyone enjoys during hot Indian summers. Hot summer afternoons are spent lazing on the balcony, sipping lemonade, and reading books. Nimbu pani is made with spices, salt, sugar, and mint.

“I love writing and reading about everyday things that I can relate to. I generally do not follow a strict form in my poems, because I get more room for creativity… Through my poems and prose, I like to give voices to those silent and mundane events that play a huge role in our everyday lives… I understand the impact writing has when it comes to spreading the right messages.”

Editor’s Note:
In India, English words are generally written using British spellings; colour rather than color (as used in America), for example.
In Hindi language, nimbu is lemon and pani is water
.

Holi: Chaotic Colours

Holi: Chaotic Colours*

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India.

the scorching sun, burns out
all the bitter feelings as we
gather at the small maidan,**
at the end of our
busy street, a maidan which
is dusty, dirty, dry just
like how we feel after,
the chaotic year we had

the oldest clothes in each
household are donned today by
all, showcasing the chaotic year
that has just gone by

then we drench each other
with fresh water, washing away
all the pain, worries, grief
and sorrow, that has stuck
to us like the burrs
In the grass in our
little maidan, washing away the
last, chaotic year we had

then we grin, feeling much
better and get our Holi,
powdered colors and throw it
at each other and after
we are done with our
simple game, our clothes are
a riot of colour, and we
Are ready for the chaotic
year we will be having.

Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India. She adds: “I am originally from the Indian state of Kerala, but I was born and raised in Bengaluru, Karnataka, and I am going to 9th grade next year. I can speak Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, and Kannada, along with English. I started writing in 3rd grade, beginning with a poem about a playground… I serve as the Editor-in-chief of our school magazine… I understand the impact writing has when it comes to spreading the right messages.

“…my poem is about the Holi festival in India. It is one of my favorite festivals, and it is a time when friends and foes enjoy splashing color and water on each other. It is a time of joy and new beginnings. I love playing Holi with my friends and family and eating pani puri at the end of the day. The poem is 29 lines long and has a challenging restraint. Each line has exactly 5 words.

“I love writing and reading about everyday things that I can relate to. I generally do not follow a strict form in my poems, because I get more room for creativity… Through my poems and prose, I like to give voices to those silent and mundane events that play a huge role in our everyday lives… I am so happy I am getting a chance to share them with the rest of the world.”

Editor’s Notes:
The festival of Holi celebrates the triumph of good over evil and it marks the arrival of spring and the end of winter in India. This year, it was celebrated on March 12th and 13th.
* In India, English words are generally written using British spellings; colour in place of color (in America), for example.
** Maidan: an open space in a city or neighborhood, usually it’s a bare or grassy ground, and it is used for sports, games or large gatherings.

A Simple Act of Kindness

A Simple Act of Kindness

By Maya and Arjun Govindaraj, both aged 17, Chennai, India.

 

Our dad grew up in Chennai, India. He has always told us stories about how he struggled to reach great heights. When we were leaving the children’s home after serving dinner, we will never forget the way he looked at those kids with tears in his eyes and said in Tamil, the local language, “Study hard and you can be very successful someday.”

India is the second most populated country in the world with some 158 million children below the age of six. There are 30 million orphaned and abandoned children and according to figures published by SERUDS*, and the numbers have increased since 2020. Majority of these children are girls because they are considered a ‘burden’ in their communities. Less than 1% of the abandoned children are in childcare institutions, 91% of which are run by non-government organizations. Many end up living on the streets, begging for food, or are forced into child labor.

Our interest in community service started in Pre-K when we packed shoe boxes during Christmas, to send to kids in developing countries. Our parents always encouraged us to help people in need and took us to volunteer during school holidays. We moved to Chennai from Houston, Texas in January 2023 so my mom could care for her elderly parents, and during our time here, we have witnessed firsthand the harsh realities of poverty.

Our school involves us in many service activities that teach us about environmental and social issues and the value of collaboration, social awareness, respect, and empathy. We were able to interact with our host community through the Discovery Program and volunteer through the Seva (service) Program. Although we come from different backgrounds, teaching the local underprivileged children, and playing with them after school we developed a bond with them and realized how happy they were to spend time with us. All children need is unconditional love, opportunities to play and learn, and a sense of belonging.

Seeing the amount of poverty that’s around us, and learning about the challenges these kids face in accessing a healthy meal and a good education inspired us to do something to show them that we do care. So, we bought backpacks, filled them with school supplies and gave them to 20 orphaned children along with evening snacks. We also served dinner to 60 children in a children’s home.

What we did were simple acts of kindness, but like Mother Teresa (the famous Nobel Peace Prize winning nun who lived and worked in and around Kolkata, India) had said, “We know only too well that what we are doing is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But if the drop were not there, the ocean would be missing something.” To see the kids living alone without the love of parents and companionship of siblings is heartbreaking. Spending time with them we came to realize the privileges we take for granted and how fortunate we are to have a loving and caring family that meets all our needs.

The joy reflected in their eyes on receiving a simple backpack and the smile on seeing a small cup of ice cream made our hearts swell with pride, and although they have nothing, they were kind enough to offer us in return the power of their collective prayers as thanks.

We will be heading back to Houston, Texas soon, but what we have learned and experienced in the past two years in Chennai, will forever be etched in our minds, and we hope to continue to visit these children and share with them what we can.

As tech savvy Gen Z’s, it is our duty to use the power of social media to tell the stories of these children and to initiate global dialogues around the issues they face so we can find them the resources to face challenges and bounce back from adversity to fulfill their dreams of a better tomorrow.

* https://serudsindia.org/orphans-the-forgotten-children-of-india/ (From Sai Educational Rural & Urban Development Society, SERUDS) https://serudsindia.org 

—Maya and Arjun Govindaraj are Indian American siblings, both aged 17, and from Texas. They are currently studying at the American International School in Chennai, Tamil Nadu in South India.

Why I Hate Writing Essays

Why I Hate Writing Essays

By Neel Archis-Manish, age 17, Michigan.

It’s the fault of a rigid and purely grade-based public education system. I’m talking about why in today’s world, writings in schools have become a series of boring, formulative, information-stacked essays instead of genuine pieces of creations. I’m not blaming the public school teachers who simply mean well and are horribly underpaid. No, I blame historical education practices.

As a fourth year high school student in the US, I have written many essays in my ELA classes that respond to a specific prompt, include quoted sources, and require annotations on the side. All this basic system does is it makes me hate writing. I hate to say it, but it’s true.

I used to LOVE writing. I wrote poetry (it wasn’t great) and short stories (it was a laughing matter) and started writing my biography several times (I swear I’m going to get past Chapter 1 some day). But no matter how bad it all was, at least writing it didn’t kill my soul a little bit every time.

Language is a powerful tool that can be used to build empires and destroy them. Words are mightier than the sword not because nobody uses swords anymore, but because humans have the right to use words freely. High schoolers are so worried about their Grammarly scores and the 11:59 PM deadline that they often forget the importance of being present as a writer in their writings.

Quoted sources from all across the internet are great, and so are annotations. But neither helps an individual grow as an individual writer. The ‘classics’ we read in our English classes today weren’t classified as classics because they contained a well-researched bibliography, they were titled ‘classics’ because they were written from the deepest emotions from a true heart.

Formality kills humanity. Sure, you could decide to put on a fancy shirt and a suit and a tie and act like a functioning human being to charm yourself into some high-paying corporate job that covers dental insurance, but then what’s the difference between you and a slightly good-looking robot? Feelings are what humans have been doing best since the dawn of time. Let’s not forget our origins.

Love, respect, kindness, greed, envy, jealousy, selfishness, selflessness, humility, humanity, power, hunger, disgust, fear, sadness, anxiety, awkwardness, joy, pride, shame, disappointment, calmness, rage, confusions, desire, and so many more HUMAN emotions and feelings the world possesses. Why are adults teaching kids to bury all of them deep inside and instead turn to writing informative 2000-word essays about a global issue that then students pretend to care about for the sake of getting an A on a summative assessment?

I used to spend hours and hours reading books of mystery, fantasy, and historical fiction. I loved the feeling of being lost in a world where the real words ceased to exist. I loved the feeling of having to imagine, to create, and to be surprised. I used to come up with my own characters when reading stories about people. I used to make up landscapes and roam across Rome and Romania. I don’t do that anymore.

Writing based on information as opposed to human nature has killed the excited kid inside of me that once upon a time lived happily ever after. I’ve stopped reading books for fun. I’ve stopped being excited to enter a library and find a good book and open it in the middle and smell the smell of the fresh paper. I’ve stopped scribbling terrible poetry and weird short stories and unfinished memoirs on scraps of paper.

I once wanted to be one of those writers who wrote the first line of the first chapter of their first hit book on a napkin in a small bistro in a corner of a small town. I don’t want to do that anymore. Now, I just want to turn in my essay before 11:59 PM on the day of the submission deadline.

—Neel Archis-Manish, age 17, Michigan. He adds:

I was raised in Pune, Maharashtra, India in a house with two decent parents (they’re great!), a sister whom I hate passionately (it’s just a sibling relationship: I would give her my kidney, but not my phone charger), and a loving grandmother who’s cooking is, in one word, divine.

Growing up, I went to a Marathi-Medium school and learned Marathi (my mother tongue), Hindi, and English. When I was 15, my dad was fortunate to get an inter-company transfer. So in the midst of the Covid-19 Pandemic, our family relocated to Michigan in the United States of America.

I am currently enrolled at a good public school where I am able to make my Indian ancestors happy by performing well in academics, all while doing what I now love most: theatre. I am now the President of our school’s Drama Club. I participate (act, student direct, and head publicity and programs) in three productions each year, write and perform for our social justice theatre troupe, and have won numerous awards by doing forensics (competitive public speaking). Life is good.

I LOVE comedy. I have watched and re-watched and re-re-watched a ton of comedy sitcoms and TV shows. If you’re looking for someone to understand and laugh with you on niche Saturday Night Live references, I am your guy. Laughter is simply the best medicine, even when you’re not ill.

Currently, I’m looking at colleges and thinking about what I want to do. I’m at a point where ‘what do you want to be when you grow up’ is a legitimate question and not what an adult uses as an ice-breaker when talking to a child. Anyway, I’m fairly certain that I want to become a Secondary English Educator. Which led me to look into writing and publishing opportunities.

Save Them Bears

Save Them Bears

By Ya-Ting Yu, Taiwan

Black Bear recently moved north for climate change research. During the festive season, Black Bear’s colleague, Polar Bear, invited him to her family dinner. “No Bear should be alone on Christmas Eve,” she said when she heard the un-partnered Black Bear planned to hibernate in his cave. With no excuse to say no, Black Bear obliged.

That evening, Black Bear arrived at Polar Bear’s home with a basket of cloudberries in his paws. He’d agonized over the gift, unsure what to bring. Though he’d seen Polar Bear’s lunch boxes: ringed seals, whale carcasses, geese eggs, he still preferred chestnuts and persimmons. Honey and beetle larvae were rare treats he savoured after long hours of foraging through data at the lab, but to be inclusive, a value Polar Bear emphasized, he chose cloudberries, safe for vegans, vegetarians, and the nut-allergic.

Polar Bear’s family welcomed Black Bear warmly, hugging, kissing and thanking him profusely for the cloudberries. Flustered by the sudden physical contact, Black Bear forced a courteous smile and awkwardly patted Polar Bear’s Mom’s back, relieved when she finally let go of his paw. It was his first time receiving kisses from complete strangers. Where he came from, in the East, Bears rarely even shook paws, sniffing was usually as close as they got.

But their habitat differences didn’t stop there. For an occasion like Christmas Eve, Polar Bear’s family usually indulged in seal and whale fat. Vegetation was more for decoration, except for the hippie Cousin who’d recently turned vegan to combat the melting ice.

Before dinner, the family gathered in prayer positions, bowing their fluffy heads to say grace. Black Bear, unfamiliar with their faith, looked from left to right at the table and hurried to mimic their gestures.

“Amen,” Black Bear echoed, a pace too slow.

“Do Bears in your forest also celebrate Christmas?” Polar Bear’s Mom asked.

Black Bear scratched his ear. “I guess so? But it’s more of a time when Bears hunt for deals—shopping sprees, fancy meals. We don’t get the day off, you see. Lunar New Year, now that’s a feast worth hibernating in Taiwan.”

“Oh, are you from Taiwan?” Polar Bear’s Aunt leaned closer, her snout twitching. “My son volunteered to build homes for the poor children in rural parts of your forest. Right, Cubby? He, sorry—they have an igloo architectural license.”

Mortified, Polar Bear injected, “Auntie, Cousin went to Thailand, not Taiwan.” Her fur bristled as she glanced at Black Bear.

“That’s cool,” Black Bear said. “But igloos? My Sun Bear friend told me they melt once the volunteers take off. At the end, it seems easier for them to sleep in trees.”

“In trees!” Polar Bear’s Aunt gasped. “Son, you must go back and build them un-meltable igloos next time. The poor cubs. Just imagine—they don’t even have blackout curtains!” She sighed sympathetically and turned to Black Bear. “Do you have blackout curtains in Taiwan? Don’t tell me you also sleep in trees.”

“Oh no,“ Black Bear said with an uneasy laugh. ”Mostly caves or tree cavities. The only time I climb trees is when I’m hungry—for honey and bee larvae. Have you tried them?”

“Bee larvae? That sounds disgusting,” Polar Bear’s Cousin said, wrinkling their nose, unfazed by Polar Bear’s death glare across the table. “Thailand fed us Pad Thai and Green Curry every day.”

“Son,” Polar Bear’s Uncle rumbled as he lumbered over with a platter of barbecued seal fat. “Don’t you know Formosan Black Bears are battling Giant Pandas to protect their territory? What propaganda are you watching all day on TikTok? Read the news.”

Polar Bear’s Aunt sniffled. “I heard about that conflict. Is that why you left, Black Bear? It must be so dangerous back home. Don’t worry. Stay here in the Arctic as long as you want. We’ll sponsor you.”

No longer able to tolerate her extended family’s political incorrectness, Polar Bear tried to stir the conversation. “So, Black Bear, how’s your research? Any insights to share?”

“Yes, actually,” Black Bear said. “Before coming here, I thought Taiwan did a terrible job on climate change initiatives. Sure, we mostly rely on fossil fuels, but imagine squeezing Australia’s population into an area the size of Switzerland. Add typhoons and earthquakes to the mix. Our islands need to generate energy for millions and the semiconductor industry, which, by the way,” he added, fixing his gaze on Polar Bear’s Cousin, “powers your AI, EVs, solar panels, and wind turbines. Charity case, eh?”

A beat of silence followed as Polar Bear’s family exchanged looks. The Cousin shifted in their seat, ears flattening. Minutes passed. Polar Bear cleared her throat.

“Did you know Taiwan is smaller than many of our icebergs?” she asked, her voice tentative, like a kind schoolteacher. “Every Bear does what they can with what they have. And really, isn’t that what this is about? Climate change affects us all—even those big-headed humans. Here we are, just bears trying to adapt.”

She surveyed her family, looking each in the eye, and finally at Black Bear. “And if Black Bear can adapt to seal fat and bear kisses, maybe we can try a little harder too.”

For the first time that evening, Black Bear felt the tension in his shoulders ease, melting faster than glaciers. Maybe he didn’t fully belong in the Arctic yet, but any bear could find a caring companion who understood, even in this icy corner of the world. He leaned in to sniff the barbecue seal fat and said, “Hold up. Let me get my soy sauce.”

Story and illustration by Ya-Ting Yu is a Taiwanese writer based in Taipei, with roots stretching to Toronto and Edinburgh. Writing in English as her second language, she weaves themes of identity and belonging, drawing on her background in counseling and psychology to tell the stories of East Asian expatriates and international students.

Save Them Bears was inspired by my own experience as a Taiwanese expat, navigating the nuances of cultural assimilation and identity. I hope to highlight how cultural misunderstandings can be wrapped in well-meaning gestures. By anthropomorphizing the characters, I aim to create a story that is somewhat ‘trigger-free’ yet thought-provoking.

The Cliffs of Moher, Ireland

The Cliffs of Moher, Ireland

Text and photos by Roi J. Tamkin, Atlanta, Georgia

I visited the Cliffs of Moher on a recent trip to Ireland. Although the day was windy and chilly, I couldn’t help but marvel at the size of the steep, dark cliffs. I watched in awe as the wild waves of the Galway Bay crash into the tall, rocky walls.

This geological wonder is located in the southwest part of the Burren Region of County Clare. The cliffs stretch for nine miles. They stand 702 feet tall at O’Brien’s Tower and fall to over 200 feet at some points. The town of Doolin is nearby, and visitors can walk to town on a trail at the visitor’s center. You’re bound to see lots of sheep as you walk the trail.

The cliffs are the most visited tourist site in Ireland with 1.5 million tourists a year.

The cliffs were formed 326 million years ago from sediment deposited at the end of a river. Layer upon layer of sediments turned into Namurian shale and sandstone. Now these dark colored cliffs are subject to erosion due to wind and sea. Portions have crumbled into the water creating sea stacks.

The national landmark has been designated an Important Bird Area as those craggy cliffs are home to many species of birds including puffins and razorbills. When I visited, every bird looked like a gull to me. They flew from their homes burrowed into the rock face and headed out to see to find fish to eat.

A popular attraction is O’Brien’s Castle. Built in 1835 by Sir Cornelius O’Brien, people climb the steps for spectacular views of the Aran Islands across the Bay. There is disagreement as to the purpose of the Castle, but it has been a tourist hit right from the beginning.

The best time to visit is early in the morning. The morning hours afford the best view of the islands and surrounding land. I arrived in the afternoon, and even though the sun was high in the sky, it was extremely cold and windy. I only had twenty minutes of clear views of the ocean and the bright green grass atop the cliffs. Before long, the fog rolled in, and I could not see anything more than a foot from my face. Walking along the tops of the cliffs became dangerous, and I had to keep my eyes glued to the person walking in front of me for safety. The fog came in so quickly and so thick that I decided it was time to visit the museum inside the visitor’s center.

There are many different one-of-a-kind geological structures on the island of Ireland. The Cliffs of Moher tell the story of the passage of time. It took millions of years to build up the cliffs, and now erosion is tearing them back down to sediment. A visit to the Cliffs will last in your memory: the contrast of colors between the murky walls and the emerald green grass; the woolly sheep grazing nearby; and the mystery of O’Brien’s Tower all add up to an amazing day by the sea.

Text and photographs by Roi J. Tamkin, a photographer based in Atlanta, Georgia.

Art by Leicie Tonouchi, Age 14, Hawaii

Art by Leicie Tonouchi, Age 14, Hawaii

“Keila is too cool for school. I painted Keila in ink and gouache.”

“Cassie has positive vibes. I painted Cassie in ink and gouache.”

“This is my interpretation of the classical Okinawan story called “The Legend of the Shisa.” I drew this digitally using Procreate.”

The Legend of the Shisa

Retold by Leicie Tonouchi, Age 14, Hawaii.

A long time ago in Okinawa, Japan, the villagers were partying at the beach when out of nowhere they saw something big—a serpent from the sea!

The serpent began to terrorize the village. One of the villagers looked at the Shisa (Okinawan lion dog) statue and prayed for help and miraculously the Shisa statue became alive! The Shisa battled the serpent and chased it back into the ocean. The villagers cheered as their homes had been saved. When everyone was safe, the Shisa turned back into a statue again. This is why in every home in Okinawa, people have two Shisa statues in each household. A male Shisa with an open mouth to scare away the evil spirits and a female Shisa with a closed mouth to keep in the good energy.

HHR’s 2024 Essay, Art & Multimedia Contest Winners

Hindus for Human Rights and Skipping Stones announce the
2024 Essay, Art & Multimedia Contest Winners!

This year’s contest invited students in grades 6-12 to explore the inspiring traditions of peacemaking in South Asia and its diaspora. We asked young writers and artists to reflect on the question, “As a South Asian, what traditions of peacemaking do you find inspiring?”

Violence and conflict have long been a part of South Asian and South Asian diaspora history, literature, and storytelling, but so have different versions of peacemaking. The contest invited students to take inspiration from any South Asian history, literature, poetry, peace activists, or peace movements that focus on concepts or ways to address peace, justice, and democracy.

The contest received a diverse array of essays, artwork, and multimedia submissions showcasing a wide range of South Asian histories, movements, and traditions that advocate for harmony, justice, and democracy. These submissions were heartfelt, creative, and thought-provoking, demonstrating the power of young voices in envisioning a more peaceful world.

Our Hearty Congratulations to all the winners!

Essay Winners:
* 1st Place: “With Andal Comes Grace” by Lekha Kolli, grade 12, Virginia.
* 2nd Place: Anti-Sikh Riots and Ongoing Traditions of Peacemaking by Ira Tiwari, grade 11, Illinois.
* 3rd Place: “South Asian Peace Through the Millennia” by Jacob Sajan, grade 11, Arizona.

Art & Multimedia Winners:
* 1st Place: Narrated Bharatanatyam Performance by Deekshitha Jayaprakash, grade, 11 Minnesota. (Please click on the link to view the performance!)
* 2nd Place: Flowers of Peace Illustration by Aniya Taneja, grade 12, Massachusetts.
* 2nd Place: Bangladesh Protests by Eshita Lahiry, grade 11, Louisiana.
* 3rd Place: Drawing inspired by the 10,000 for World Peace Assembly by Diya Lane, grade 12, California.

Download the Winning Entries (This is a 5 MB file) by clicking here!