grief, he was driven insane and suicided. My hatred for the British has exponentially grown since. How far would this tactic of satyagraha go, and to what extent will it work? Questions about this new leader swarmed my head like bees around their nest. It was almost lunchtime, so I went to a nearby restaurant. Although the place was unsanitized, surrounded by flies, had no air conditioning, and no place to wash your hands, it was still the best place around here because of the way the food tasted. I walked to the counter. “Hey, Aadhish did you hear about Gandhi? Something totally new, eh?” “Yeah, this person is very rebellious. He doesn’t like to follow any rules. Still, amazing how one person can compromise with the South African government, right? Almost like he is bargaining with a fellow rickshaw driver,” I replied. “Anyways, I will have 3 vadas and some naan with sabsi, please,” I asked. “Coming right up,” he said. I sat down on the old tattered couch.
I looked around my messy house. My stomach made weird noises I don’t think it should have been making. I could tell it was because of the freshness of the food I ate. Something was lingering in my mind I couldn’t stop thinking about. I had this strange urge to go and help Gandhi. It wasn’t a want, it was a need. There was this fire building up inside of my stomach ever since I was dropped at the orphanage, to when Uncle Romonaivsten nurtured me and set me off to my own life, all the way to now. Uncle Romonaivsten was my “adopted father” who took care of me and gave me a lot of money so I could live a life of my own. He was a very rich British businessman and had the softest heart of anybody I met. He felt sorry for me at the orphanage, and adopted me. The majority of my happiest memories are with him. I blamed my parents’ death on the British for taxing them to poverty. They treated us like we were a lower class. This was a golden opportunity for me to avenge my parent’s death. I felt crazy, but I didn’t care, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. All those years just living in my house that I didn’t even buy for myself, and not standing up to the one thing I thought was wrong. I was probably driven crazy like my dad; but I am not going to cowardly suicide like him, I am going to stand up to this regime. I went into my bedroom and started packing up a duffel bag. I put some clothes, a towel, toothpaste, and some other things I always take with me when I go places. I took a rickshaw to the airport. Emotions of hatred and sorrow were tearing me apart. On the way to the airport, I saw poverty in India at its worst. Kids washing cars so they could feed their family. Shoe shiners plagued with malnutrition working for plump, well-fed, British. The dirt roads poorly maintained. At last, when I couldn’t watch any longer, we reached the airport. I booked a ticket for tomorrow. All of my actions were quick, sudden, and hasty, but I didn’t
care. Fatigue pounded my body and the heart-racing adrenaline decreased and I felt extremely tired and lethargic. It was late night. Soon, I started to feel sleepy. My eyes fluttered, and I passed out.