December 6. New Delhi. 

“Oh no! It’s a girl.” It is 3:30 am. The room is cold, and the single flickering bulb does little to dispel the darkness. The doctor holds me up to the light as she examines my new body. 

“Check again!” orders my father’s aunt. “It should be a boy! The pundits can’t be wrong,” she insists. “We do not deserve this. A fourth daughter! God have mercy!” 

“Please,” the doctor interrupted in soothing tones, “take some rest. It has been a long night.” 

I see everything. My birth, my first breath and the sadness of my mother’s tears. A dark cloud fills the  

room. My mother’s moans of despair reach out – down the long corridor into every room of the house. 

She is not alone; all the women including the servants shed tears of pain. All hope of having a male child are now forever lost. This was the last chance. 

 I am given a Hindi name, Kapila, a name I am unable to resonate with. My small body feels battered by shame, guilt and unfulfilled desire. But in the midst of their sorrow I make a promise to myself; one day they will be proud of me. I am not just a girl, a drain on father”s wealth or a burden on society. I will be a gain for humanity! I will!  

I will begin my story again with the seeds of determination, joy, and exhilaration. A brand-new life! A new opportunity. Another chance to manifest my dream. I am born twice in the same moment.