A few months ago, I wrote a post on LinkedIn, asking if anyone would like to be a guest on the MyndStories Minis Podcast.
There was one email that stood out for me. I remember reading it and feeling moved by the candor and hope in that email. I tend to vacillate on emails, and can sometimes be shoddy with my correspondence. But this email I replied to immediately.
That’s how I met Hansika Tyagi. (I won’t define her life by her illness, just that she was a lovely 17-year-old)
I didn’t speak to her until the day of the interview. When we connected for the interview on Podcastle, I panicked because she was quiet. Very quiet. I didn’t press ‘Record,’ wondering how to get her to talk. After about 15 minutes of trying, I asked her if she would like to come again another time. But in reality, I didn’t want to go on with the podcast.
I had no patience or kindness, did I? She went real quiet this time. The sort of silence that screams because you know you have hurt someone. “Just a minute,” she said and abruptly disconnected. I sat there, staring at the screen, wondering what to do.
I thought I should go because I don’t like anyone making me wait. Such egos we carry! But I waited. And I am glad I did. Hansika came back after about 5 minutes. And then spoke.
And spoke.
About her hopes, dreams, and her inspirations. It wasn’t a poetic, polished interview. It was awkward and beautiful because it was filled with life. HER life. And what a beautiful life she led.
This is how we are. Unscripted. Raw. Fumbling. Daring to discuss our dreams. Sharing our pain. Whispering our vulnerabilities.
“No one had said yes to me until now. Being on a podcast was a dream for me. I will be forever grateful to you,” she said at the end. And I left feeling really small because her voice was beautiful. It was the voice of hope I had never had.
We put the podcast unfiltered. Raw. It remains one of the most downloaded episodes on our show.
I didn’t know that in giving her a voice, I would give myself a voice too.
I am not here to say, “Oh, I knew her, and now she is gone.”
I am here to say that I was almost foolish enough to call this interview off, that I thought of vanity metrics like “how people should sound on a podcast,” and I almost didn’t give a girl her dream.
I am here to say this: Our actions and words go further than we can ever imagine. Please try to be kind to anyone you meet. I thought I was being kind and patient to Hansika. Turns out she was the one who was patient with my brusqueness and arrogance, kind with my fumbles, and that when she said, “I love life every minute,” she would be the one giving me a lesson for life.
Hansika left us on August 29th. But she lives on in our memories.
May you whisper kindness to someone today.
And thank you, Hansika – I know you are loving life wherever you are now.
