She knew she was bargaining for a long and arduous course where not only would she research for a degree but teach a diverse class of foreign students also, and at the end of it all turn into an academic in her own right. For a girl from a modest background this was no small deal: the mind-boggling campus with its towers, set among manicured rolling lawns, its extensive state-of-the-art libraries, its students representing every country on the map, the faculty formidable in their knowledge — and yet kind friends, philosophers and guides to students in the throes of a culture shock.

Busy years ran by, crowded with assignments, presentations, seminars, summer courses, interspersed with an interesting (sometimes even hectic) social life — friendships forged with people across the globe, vacations taken with backpacks on shoestring budgets. Life also meant coming home to lonely apartments, quick-fix dinners, poring over the laptop for the next day’s assignments and catching up on the odd call to folks at home.

This wisp of a girl has matured into a serious academic with a dissertation and a doctorate to her name. When I saw the dissertation — a tome of a thousand page — what struck me was the list of acknowledgements on the flyleaf. The first acknowledgement, taking pride of place among professors and teachers, was to her grandmother — “my first teacher”.

I could not but swallow a tear when I remembered my mother-in-law, hailing from a distant village, who would never have understood what a PhD meant but was powerful enough to inspire a young girl in a faraway place. Her grandmother certainly taught her many things, above all courage, fair play and a deep sense of right — the lessons of life that can hardly go wrong. It is no surprise that the girl has tried to give back in some measure what she has received.