The streets of Lucknow buzzed with life, even in the biting cold of winter. The city, famous for its rich cultural heritage, narrow lanes, and vibrant bazaars, was blanketed in a gray chill that seemed to seep into every corner. The air carried the faint aroma of spices from street vendors, mixing with the smoky scent of chai being brewed at roadside stalls. Yet, despite the lively backdrop, the struggles of daily life for the poor were starkly evident. Asha’s day started early. Each morning, she walked to the busy Aminabad market, a heavy basket of vegetables balanced on her head. The fog hung thick in the air, and her thin shawl did little to keep out the freezing wind. Her hands, roughened by years of labor, trembled as she arranged her goods for sale. Lucknow was known for its tehzeeb (etiquette) and hospitality, but for people like Asha, life was a relentless grind. The beautiful architecture of the Bara Imambara and the melodic strains of Urdu poetry felt distant—symbols of a wor...

Lucknow’s winter had arrived, bringing more than just the chill of cold winds; for Asha, the season felt like a symbol of the emptiness and struggles she had carried for years. Selling vegetables in the market barely provided enough for her family. More than her physical needs, though, she felt a deep, soul-crushing brokenness—one that no amount of hard work could heal. She often wondered if anyone truly cared for her, if there was hope beyond her struggles.      One evening, while walking through the market, Asha noticed a crowd gathering near a small church. She felt drawn to the scene. Volunteers were giving away blankets with gentle smiles, speaking words of hope to everyone they encountered.      Asha stood off to the side, watching as a little boy wrapped in a blanket laughed with joy. His mother stood nearby, her eyes brimming with tears—not of sorrow, but of relief. Asha’s heart stirred. How could something as simple as a blanket bring such light to...