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“Aam…,” (Mango in Hindi) I said, and stopped. I was four going on five. Dumbstruck by all those eyes observing me expectantly where I stood on stage. A roomful of parents willing me to continue with the Hindi poem about the lofty mango that I’d memorized as my offering to the end-of-the-school-year production.
The pre-kindergarten school had been started by mother to provide our tiny village in northern India with a local option for the children of the faculty/staff of the Agricultural Extension Education Institute of which my father was principal. Education was what my parents lived and breathed.
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