Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you've already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.

Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you've already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.

Every other Sunday morning, I’m met with the same, staticky voice on my phone. “beta, padhai kaisi chal rahi hai?” The speaker is a sandpaper-voiced, elderly man, asking me in Hindi how my studies are going. Even though his phone is mere inches away from his mouth, he’s projecting close to his max volume, as if he’s compelled to speak louder to the phone to compensate for how far away he lives. The result is a harsh tone that peaks the phone microphone, piercing my eardrum like a knife cutting through tofu. The kind man is my grandpa, who resides in a country across the globe, India. I try to call my grandparents at least once every two weeks, eager to practice my broken Hindi as my mom sits beside me like an enthusiastic guidance counselor. She happily fills any gaps in translation as I give my grandparents my best news anchor impression and break down the happenings of my life for the past week. This back-and-forth - mostly forth - is something that I used to dread every time it would come up. It wasn’t that I disliked talking to my grandparents - some of my most cherished memories include flying to India to visit my extended family. Visits to India meant being welcomed with open arms by relatives close and distant, seeing cities that have been inhabited by people for thousands of years, and experiencing a land so diverse that crossing a state border could have you hear a different language spoken altogether. Every time my parents and I visited, news of ‘family from America’ passed around my relatives' neighborhoods quicker than the speed at which my grandpa drove his motorcycle on the highway. Even with my lack of speaking ability, I was able to communicate my point in person using a combination of speaking, acting, hand motions, and the help of my parents. On the other hand, talking on the phone without seeing them was a completely different experience. The difference in my comprehension level was night and day. It was very easy to get frustrated with my inability to talk to my grandpa on the phone. I so badly wanted to fill him in on my entire week, from my rec basketball games to my elementary school chorus recitals, and even what I had for lunch that day. But I couldn’t. It was as if I was stuck in a locked, glass box, surrounded by keys. I could see my way, but I simply couldn’t break out. However, this period didn’t last for much longer. All this frustration must have awakened something in me because I strove to improve my Hindi. Whenever my grandpa inquired about my studies, I wanted to definitively say that yes, my studies were going great; I wanted to let him know that all his hard work raising my dad wasn’t for nothing; I wanted him to know he had a grandson who would make him proud. So, I took lessons and practiced with my parents, hoping to finally impress my grandparents. Bit by bit, I started to look forward to these conversations as my Hindi progressed. It was a different feeling being able to talk to him without the constraint of language like a dog finally freed from the leash. Although my lessons gradually came to an end, I continued to practice Hindi with my grandpa and family to never encounter this language barrier again. My grandfather has been deceased for over a year now. The news was difficult to process and devastating, but I’m grateful for the time that I spent with him. He was somebody who pushed me to be the best version of myself, even if he didn’t know it.