A Memory from a Kathmandu Factory
Today, while going through an old album, I found a photograph that stopped me in my tracks. It was taken on the day I left the shoe factory in Kathmandu. My brothers in labor stood close, their arms around my shoulders, their faces carrying exhaustion, pride, and a silent promise of solidarity.
One of the smallest battles we fought together was over tea. A cup of chai, so ordinary in daily life, became extraordinary inside the factory. It became a fight for dignity, for a moment to breathe, for the recognition that our labor was more than just mechanical output. That cup of tea meant we mattered.
Labor Day in America carries a different tradition—barbecues, parades, a long weekend. But when I see this photo, I don’t just remember the factory. I remember how those years shaped me, how even the smallest fight for respect can leave an imprint on a life. And I see more than my past — I see the countless unseen workers today whose labor makes our world possible. This day is for them too.
I wrote A Fight for a Cup of Chai to honor those faces and to preserve their voices. But more than that, I wrote it to remind myself — and hopefully others — that labor is never just about work. It is about dignity, solidarity, and the hope for a better tomorrow.
This Labor Day, may we celebrate not just with rest, but with remembrance. And may we never forget the stories carried in the hands of workers everywhere.
We were young, but the work had already aged us. The machines never stopped; the hours stretched longer than the pay could ever justify. And yet, within those walls, I found family. These men were more than coworkers—they were brothers who shared the weight of survival with me.
One of the smallest battles we fought together was over tea. A cup of chai, so ordinary in daily life, became extraordinary inside the factory. It became a fight for dignity, for a moment to breathe, for the recognition that our labor was more than just mechanical output. That cup of tea meant we mattered.
Labor Day in America carries a different tradition—barbecues, parades, a long weekend. But when I see this photo, I’m reminded that labor is not only about work. It is about dignity, connection, and the friendships that carried me through some of my hardest days.
Looking at their faces now, I don’t just remember the factory. I remember how those years shaped me, how even the smallest fight for respect can leave an imprint on a life. This Labor Day, I carry their memory with me, quietly, like a thread that still binds me to that time and to those brothers.
When I look at that photo, I don’t just see my past. I see the countless unseen workers today whose labor makes our world possible. This day is for them too.
I wrote A Fight for a Cup of Chai to honor those faces and to preserve their voices. But more than that, I wrote it to remind myself — and hopefully others — that labor is never just about work. It is about dignity, solidarity, and the hope for a better tomorrow.
This Labor Day, may we celebrate not just with rest, but with remembrance. And may we never forget the stories carried in the hands of workers everywhere.