Mohandas K. Gandhi (1869-1948) once wrote:
				Whenever you are in doubt or when the self becomes too much with you, try the following expedient: Recall the faces of  the poorest and the most helpless man you have ever seen and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of   any use to him?  Will he be able to get anything by it?  Will it restore to him control over his own life and destiny?  In other words, will it lead to Gram Swaraj (self-rule) of the hungry and spiritually starved millions of our countrymen? Then you will  find your self-doubts and yourself melting away.
			One of the goals of morality is to facilitate a specific maturation process, whereby an individual ascends to a higher level of personal consciousness when concerns for the collective well-being of humanity replace purely personal ambitions that govern individual action.  I have witnessed, or more importantly, have been a part of, the struggling and suffering faced daily by the vast majority of Indians in their attempts to escape the various cycles of poverty, which more often than not, end in disheartening frustration.  To see the pain and suffering of not only a few, but entire nation, perhaps had the most influence on my life than the sum total of all other life experiences.  Many regard this situation with understandable detachment, especially after being numbed by the daily assault of media coverage, but it has provided me with the most dominant, formative experience of my life.  Even in this poverty, or perhaps especially, a look into the eyes of "the poorest and most helpless" illuminates the scope of humanity, to action, within us all.
			As a child, I was separated from my identical twin brother shortly after birth.  My father needed to further his education to support our family; this required him to go to the United States for an advanced degree.  I lived with my mother, in Punjab, until the age of ten, while my brother remained with my grandparents in Kashmir, close enough for occasional visits, but much too far for a brotherly relationship.  This voluntary separation may seem drastic, but it is common in India and I feel it has strengthened the bond I now share with my brother.  As I became an adult, I learned to appreciate the perseverance of my father and the strength of my mother in sacrificing personal gratification to provide a superior opportunity for their children to live life without limits in the United States.
			My mother alone raised me through early childhood and the lesson I remember most vividly was her compassion for the less fortunate.  Lined up daily outside our village temple?s wall were countless homeless families begging and pleading for money, even scraps of food or clothing.  Along the road to the temple there was a small pond from which the cows were drinking and the children bathing in, all the while their parents were absent.  Many people had grown immune to this suffering around them, but before our weekly visit to the temple, my mother would gather any money and clothing that our family could spare to help these families.  After prayers, she would walk down the line and give them what she had brought; this process had a greater impact on me than the preceding services at the temple.  Consequently, I was indoctrinated into my mother?s traditions in quite a unique manner.  The Sunday after my sixth birthday, my mother instructed me to select my favorite gift I had received a few days before and bring it with me as we left for the temple.  I could not understand why at first, but when we arrived to the temple, I realized what I had to do.  I walked up to a boy about my age, asked him his name (Aseem), and gave him my gift, all the while my mother held my hand with tears in her eye.  This unforgettable moment meant much more to me than any material gift I have ever received.  I believe that experience impressed upon my conscious, the distinct obligation of my life: to help "the poorest and most helpless" find Gram Swaraj (self-rule) in order to end the viscous cycles of suffering which suffocates their existence.
			On a recent trip to India I had a chance to work at a local hospital, an opportunity for me to decide if medicine was a viable choice for my life?s work.  Even as the time I spent with the doctors solidified my desire to dedicate my life to medicine, I remembered the homeless outside the temple fifteen years ago and my concerns returned to the less fortunate.  I visited many places from my childhood and saw, in the suffering, myself fifteen years ago, just hoping and praying for a chance to escape.  I have been given this chance through the hard work of my parents and now, it is my obligation and privilege to make contributions toward humanity for those less fortunate in our society.
			One of my goals in life is to challenge the medical community to find methods to bring equal standards of care to all people, not just the rich.  My pursuit of medicine will allow me to assist in the battle to provide the medically mistreated poor of our society a better health care system that will not discriminate based on social standing.  Even though I realize I can never help all those who need it, a chance to help the poorest and most destitute might allow others to follow my path.  As Gandhi once felt the weight of humanity tug on his soul, I too feel that enormous burden when I contemplate the future of these children.  Witnessing this unfettered suffering evoked my anger and challenged my spirit.  However, when my personal determination and fortitude runs out, I remember the eyes of the children, and as Gandhi, I too find my doubts and myself melting away.