remembering raveena aulakh’s brave voice

Star reporter Raveena Aulakh died at the end of last month.
She is a fearless and talented journalist who focuses on her work.
She only likes to tell a great story. she tells a lot.
Here are her memorable selection.
From the gorgeous earrings I wore these iron rings, I remembered Grandma\'s famous words. The dozens of earrings I have are a pair of small gold rings. They are dull-
It looks like, slightly twisted, the button is not completely closed for one.
They have been old since 1930.
They are always in a red satin bag in the corner of my closet.
I rarely wear them because I am afraid to lose them.
They are my grandma\'s and the only thing I have right now.
My grandmother died two years ago. I lost my favorite person in the world.
Her name is Hamayan, but few people know it.
Everyone calls her Ammi, meaning the mother of Urdu, a language in parts of Pakistan and India.
Ami, 19, married to his grandfather for three years and divided India in 1947.
Riots raged, towns burned, thousands died in a few days, and two men fled Pakistan\'s home city of Lahore with clothes.
They eventually settled down in Chandigarh, a small town in the foothills of the Himalayas, where Ami had five children in more than 12 years;
My mother is her boss.
I was her first grandson.
Ami was there when I was born.
Small, crumpled, two months ago.
She was there when I was named, and she was there when the doctor allowed me to take me home.
But a few weeks later, when someone put me down and broke my elbow, she was not there.
Amie took me away from my parents\' house in a few hours and I never came back except for occasional visits.
I was 6 weeks old and became her sixth child.
Ami is very thin, only 5 feet tall, slightly curved, always walking on the waist with his left hand.
She used to be young.
There are photos to prove-
But as far as I can remember, her face is a criss-crossed wrinkle that gets deeper every year and her silver hair is thinner.
When I was a child, I pestered her every night when I was eating, until she told me how she married my grandfather, and then found out that he had 13 brothers and sisters, they all live in the same house.
She often said that marrying a man she had never met shocked her.
She rarely talks about her life in Pakistan.
But when she did, she never complained, never lamented what she left behind.
She counted her blessings as she came to the other side of the border with her little family.
Amy and I are good friends.
She taught me to cook, sew, or even knit, but rarely let me do any housework.
Her philosophy is simple: \"Life will bring surprises. Be prepared.
\"The biggest benefit of being raised by grandparents is that they become smarter as they grow older and learn lessons with their children.
When I first cut my waist
When I was 15 years old, my long hair was shoulder to shoulder, and Ami shed some tears, but accepted it calmly and even saved me from my grandfather\'s anger. (We are Sikhs;
It is against our religion to cut our hair. )
My grandparents are very strict with their four daughters.
There is a curfew;
It is impossible to stay overnight, make-up and dress;
Of course, no boyfriend.
Overnight, makeup and skirts are not allowed
Not for me either, but I kept up against the curfew and Ami was always keeping the wind out of the rain for me.
When I told her that my boyfriend had proposed, I promised and she cried.
Read the full story
Meeting my boss in May 12, 2012 is one thing to interview garment workers and tell stories about their poverty and long hours of work.
This is another thing they live in, even in a few daysDHAKA in Bangladesh --
Some days are good for Meem and some days she likes to forget as soon as possible.
The first time I saw Mihm and the first day I worked in a sweatshop, she had a great time despite the hot weather. She sat cross-
On the concrete floor, there is a tiny, weak figure in the part of a pile of collars, cuffs and other unstitched shirts.
She had a cutter in her hand, much like eyebrow tweezers, and she was trimming the line on the navy collar.
She cleared the lines one by one until the pile older than her was gone.
She spent the whole morning without looking up or joining any conversation.
She did it from 9. m. to 9 p. m.
Except for an hour-
Long lunch break
Later, she said that she had a good day: the electricity did not smoke (
This means that these three ceiling fans have been working all day)
So it wasn\'t too hot, she had curry fish for lunch, and the floor manager didn\'t yell at her because she snorted too loudly.
\"It was a very good day,\" she said.
Meem is 9 years old and works as a sewing helper in a garment factory.
She is also my boss for a few days this summer.
Cheap fashion has sparked a social revolution in Bangladesh.
As we all know, professional women are changing their lives and their family lives.
The food at home is more and the clothes are cleaner.
Electricity, toilet.
But there is a price for it.
M likes to play in the rain.
She likes to sleep late on Sundays and holidays.
She likes to play with her three sisters.
The factory has become her life, she may know the life for a long time, maybe all her days.
Read the full storyOct.
11,2013 nuclear glitch Indian court tries to unlock the mystery of a large number of sick and disabled children, confusing abortion and fatal cancer around India\'s first uranium mineJADUGORA
Donia Ulan wants to go out.
It was only 10 metres from the balcony, but it was a struggle.
Her face was covered with sweat at 45 degrees Celsiusyear-
The old Crawl runs through the cement floor and puts a thin forearm in front of the other.
Halfway, she stopped to take a deep breath and went on to the grid door on the balcony.
She opened it with her head.
It takes five minutes to take a few big steps.
Her 18-year-old brother, Alowati, followed as always.
Neither Alowati nor Duniya can walk or take anything;
Their limbs swing inanimate.
Their legs are bones and their arms are a little stronger.
Their knees and elbows are rubbed by crawling.
When they want something, they can\'t speak in sentences and they can\'t gesture loudly.
They can\'t support themselves.
They need help taking a bath and going to the toilet.
Deformed children like Alowati and Duniya live almost every street in Jadugora, a tree-lined town in eastern India and neighboring villages
Young women who have had multiple miscarriages, as well as men and women who have died of cancer.
No one knows why.
Now, a court in India wants to solve the mystery of what has happened at the Indian uranium mining center Jadugora since the end of 1960.
Budhini Uram takes care of her younger siblings Alowati and Duniya every day. (
Their mother is gone.
Details will not be discussed in Budhini. )
She wakes them up, helps them brush their teeth, takes a shower, feeds them three times a day and takes them to the bathroom.
She turns it on if they want to watch TV.
She will bring them out if they want to sit on the balcony.
If they were as grumpy as usual, she would sit down and tell them stories.
She did not know if they understood a word.
\"I want to get married and have my own family, but what happens to the two people if this happens? ” she says.
\"No one takes care of them.
I will be with them forever.
Read the full storySept.
Perfect storm climate change means higher temperatures, more rain, stronger winds
Bangladesh is the starting point for the upcoming disaster, Bangladesh-
It\'s hard to imagine shamiser gaez sprinting on the tree.
He is 86 years old and has a hump on his back and he needs a cane to walk at his best.
But people do very things under very circumstances.
On May 25, 2009, hours before Hurricane Ella struck Bangladesh and India, Gazi remembered the rain --
It\'s ruthless, it\'s brown sheets with only two metres of visibility.
The wind is great, but in the middle
In the afternoon, it suddenly regained more momentum and began to dump houses and throw fences.
A few minutes later, Gao Zi knew that he would be blown away if he did not find a shelter.
Gazi climbed up a palm tree.
He doesn\'t remember how he did it or how long it took. But he did it.
The wind roared and the waves were raging. he stayed there for six hours.
As he climbed down, his coastal village in southwestern Bangladesh had changed forever: The house was destroyed and the livestock drowned.
The village was flooded.
Four years later, two sons of Gazi and their family were in Dhaka.
Gazi is as attached to country life as he is a palm tree.
It was the only existence he knew, but he realized that he might soon have no choice but to leave.
\"Climate change is destroying everything,\" he said . \"
In the past, resilient Bengali people built new huts, bought more livestock, stored food and continued to live.
But Ella is different.
300 people were killed and dozens of villages were killed by three
4,000 kilometres of roads and dams were destroyed. A warm, good-
Gazi had a nice temper, a short beard and a wry smile. He said he wanted his son to stay in the village.
\"I just want to grow old with my children and their children.
But now that they\'re gone, I don\'t think they\'ll be back again.
The palm trees that saved his life are still there.
Read the full storyFeb.
9,2013 dig her lost girl mother working excavator while looking for her lost daughter in the Japanese tsunami
When Naomi Hiratsuka climbed into the cab of the yellow excavator and turned on the engine, the wind roared through and the snow swirls continued.
After a while, she pulled the huge arm of the machine through the mud, scuffs and digging.
Her eyes stick to the bucket when it dumps dirt.
For months, the daily mud can only produce rubble, red and blue plastic.
But Hiratsuka did not stop.
She hasn\'t stopped since she was 12. year-
Koharu, the old daughter of Dachuan Primary School, and 73 students were washed away by the tsunami after the last March earthquake in Japan.
At the beginning, Hiratsuka and other sad parents waded on their knees --
Look for high brown water in coharu.
Then she dug out of the mud with a shovel.
In June, she was licensed to operate heavy machinery and returned to dig deep.
Every morning, Hiratsuka tells herself that she will find Koharu on this day.
Every night, she will go home and tell herself that she will find her daughter tomorrow.
The villagers called her Akiramena and she never gave up.
The place where Hiratsuka lives is desolate and desolate.
Dachuan primary school once stood in a wooded valley.
A river runs through the area with mountains on both sides.
There are trees, buildings and houses nearby.
It is now a muddy and dirty wasteland with a smell of gasoline and decay.
The school building was removed and a Buddhist holy land stood at the entrance.
Every day, sad parents and grandparents arrive at the altar with flowers, cups full of steaming milk and small toys --
Police, dogs and dolls.
\"I have to, I have to take her home,\" Hiratsuka said . \" There were tears on her cheeks.
Strangers are coming.
\"It\'s terrible, what happened here,\" said Tokyo engineer Nido Takenaka . \".
When he saw the altar, he couldn\'t say anything excitedly. “I have a 3-year-old son.
I can\'t imagine them losing him like this.
He heard about Hiratsuka\'s efforts.
He wanted to talk to her and tell her how sorry he was for her loss. She can\'t hear it.
She is operating the excavator.
Her daughter is still out there.
Read the full storyFeb.