I spent last evening with nine of the most dynamic people I've ever met in the world. They were awarded the Navjyoti Awards by UNICEF, for their outstanding contribution toward empowering women in Maharashtra. I learnt about these girls a while ago, through my involvement with UNICEF, but I hadn’t had a chance to meet any of them before. 

Although most of them belong to core programs I've visited (in Mumbai), like Deepshikha (Empowerment of Adolescent Girls) and Sparsh/Red Ribbon Clubs (AIDS Awareness), the majority of these girls do extraordinary work in remote parts of Maharashtra.

When I first read about their achievements by email, I was filled with awe and admiration.  When I met them in person yesterday, each one a bundle of determination and energy, with signature hugs as unbreakable as their resolve and as infectious as their humor, I kept thinking how blessed am I to have met these nine powerhouses with shining eyes and vice-like grips.

After the nine awards were given and pictures were taken, after we exchanged stories, laughter, phone numbers, notebook messages, and countless hugs, we finally sat down for dinner. "Your Hindi has improved a lot since 'Tango Charlie!'" noted 17-year-old Swati, who educates girls and pregnant women about AIDS. "It doesn't sound so Bengali any more!"  

"But she was putting on that accent because her character was Bengali", immediately protested Sunita, a motherless child who worked throughout her childhood to put herself and her brothers through school. "It's still very Bengali", I laughed, "it has to improve, na?"

"Na, na! Your Hindi is okay!" said Baby Saroja, who campaigns against child marriages, and refused to marry when pressured by her village.  "It's your Marathi that needs work!", interjected Manjula, who has been educating her village about illiteracy and women’s rights.

"Especially now that you've met us,” giggled Punyaratha, who organizes the adolescent girls in her village into self-help groups, “how will you ever manage?" 

"She'll learn Marathi!  It must be easier than sign language, she learnt it for 'Black'!" quipped Swati before I could answer – clearly, she is a film buff.

Pragati (aptly named), who made it to college despite tremendous opposition, and dreams of educating her entire village, grabbed my hand. "Don't worry Didi," she reassured,  "We'll teach you!  Theek hai?"

Utterly overwhelmed by the heady rush of energy surrounding me, I took a moment to catch my breath.  "Yes", I answered slowly, absorbing this burst of pure (and combustible) Oxygen around me. "There's a great deal all of you can teach me.  Kuthun surwaat karaychi?”