In 2021, after three years of being away from home, I went back to India. A country so diverse and vibrant, that amongst the smell of food, the smoke of freshly made chai, the sound of honks and laughs, crowd of hundreds, we miss the beauty of the ones still in hope- The ones that have not yet heard the slogans written in sweat and blood against the fascist government painting blots on the constitution of the world's largest democracy. These are the ones that do not recognize the hierarchy that oppressed their ancestors based on something they call the caste system- the root to a life that stems out with branches that are eventually cut off in the name of opportunities to work as a domestic helper and remain untouched, remain a hidden seed of a practice that was banned more than 70 years ago. This is yet another child, running around laughing with her eyes full of dreams, her heart away from the fate her parents want her to accept. They want her to not be so brave as their trauma is finding another generation to reside in; no education, no identity, living in half-built huts, and stolen electricity if you are lucky. Her dreams have rejected this trauma. There is bravery in her innocence.