Manisha Gupta works with social entrepreneurs, grassroots movements and rural women entrepreneurs by day and night, and writes to remember her own stories in her free time.
On an autumn Sunday morning in Kolkata, the air was nippy, and my bed was warm when I felt my mother patting my face. Her touch felt light on my skin; her palms were soft and fluffy, like the pillow under my
The sofa smelled like toast. My head had been forced into its corner. The upholstery was frayed in this part, and I could see a tiny brown piece of bread tucked into a crevice in the cushion. This would be the