I die a hundred deaths each day. I die when I see hungry people.

Hear, O children of compassion, the words of Rekha, a woman of grace and sorrow, who bore her heart not only in art but in truth: “I die a hundred deaths each day. I die when I see hungry people. Or people who’re sad. I die when I know I can do nothing about pollution in Mumbai. I die when I feel helpless when my loved one is in pain.” These words are no mere lament; they are the cry of a soul deeply attuned to the suffering of the world. They reveal the burden of empathy, the weight carried by those who feel not only their own wounds, but also the wounds of others.

The meaning is this: a person who loves deeply, who sees with open eyes, cannot pass through life untouched by the pain of others. Each hunger, each sorrow, each injustice becomes a death within them. To feel helpless is not weakness, but humanity; it is the acknowledgment that the world’s pain is too vast for one heart, yet that heart still refuses to turn away. Rekha