#LAST YEAR I HAD SPECIAL PRIVILEGES TO LEAVE THE EXAM HALL EARLY

[eyluvu]

Exam in a few hours the panic attack is brewing

[marlmckitten]

(She Had) Just Enough Time ~ Chapter Four: Fruitless Quarrels

A/N: Just as the name implies, this is more or less pointless and just carrying them though until I have more plot to write about when they are fifteen. ;) Essentially, I’m sorry but I wanted to post something because I’m loosing momentum pretty fast. But coming up next chapter: Marlene joins the Quidditch Team and surprisingly bonds with one James Potter.

In their forth year things got tougher. Their classes seemed harder and their homework loads were heavier. And the impeding dread of knowing that it was only going to get worst when their fifth year rolled around and OWLs popped up seemed to keep morale low. Marlene had fallen behind in a few classes and was annoyed when still Sirius flew by without even trying. He was frequently showing up to class late or sometimes not at all. She didn’t understand and refused to attribute it to anything to do with his blood status. But he had long forgotten about that. When they bickered it was about their hair, or looks, or wardrobe, never about blood status or family nobility. Marlene noticed the shift easily but she never mentioned it. It did make him a little more tolerable though. Because he was still an ass, but his arrogance was wavering. She had overheard him on occasion asking his friends about various traditions and facts his family had misinformed him of, and wondering just how offence some of them were. Those moments almost made Marlene smile, but he quickly became just as intolerable when girls from every house started to swooning around him. Sure, he had been growing up fairly attractively. And as time progressed he became more of a ‘bad boy’ with his muggle leather jacket, his parties, his cigarettes and everything else that came with it. But still, he wasn’t impressive enough for girls to be drooling over him in Marlene’s opinion. So the blonde would still verbally attack him in the halls whenever he did something stupid, almost as frequently as he would pester her whenever an opportunity arrised. One day in Herbology they were forced into partners, which resulted in both parties ending up in the hospital wing.

“I didn’t say you should STICK YOUR FINGER IN ITS TEETH!” Marlene yelled on their way to Madam Pomphrey.

“You told me that I wouldn’t do it, and I proved you wrong.”

“Yeah, then it got angry, nearly bit off your finger and proceeded to throw some venemous seeds into my face, you complete prat.”

“Your’e the one who thought it would be a funny prank.”

“I WAS BEING SARCASTIC YOU DUMB TWAT!”

The argument went on until they got to the matron, who promptly separated the two on opposite sides of the hospital wings and curtains were drawn up around their beds.

Lily came in to visit and scowled over at Sirius all the while, until James walked in to see Sirius and stopped along the way to pay attention to the red head, “What are you doing here Evans, not thinking of cheating on me with my best mate are you?”

Lily rolled her eyes, “It’s kind of hard to cheat on someone you’re not actually dating Potter, get out of my face.”

“Suppose you’re right, so does that mean we have a date so you can officially cheat on me?” He attempted.

“I’d rather not, you should go tend to your boyfriend before Madam Pomphrey has a third student to take care of,” she threatened, and James gave up, scampering away to Sirius.

From across the room, Marlene could hear Black telling Potter that he was being an idiot and to stop constantly hitting on a girl so far out of his league. James insisted that his persistence would eventually pay off, but then Marlene turned her attention to Lily who was clearly trying to pretend she couldn’t hear the whole exchange.

“I bet you’re disappointed it wasn’t Potter who was stuck in here instead?” She smirked to her best friend.

Lily snorted, “I am always wishing for that.”

Mary entered shortly after and sat with Marlene and Lily. “Too bad there’s not a different wing for them to be in,” she chirped in, never having much of a problem with the boys herself, but knowing that it was most likely what the other two were talking about.

“More special privileges for Potter and his gang? I don’t think that’s necessary,” Lily almost spat in reply, which shut up both girls from the topic of Potter in general and awkwardly brought up the Herbology lesson again. They compared notes and discussed whether or not it would show up on their exams until it was time for them to leave the Wing.

Lily left first, leaving just Mary and Marlene. They looked over absent-mindedly at James who starred as Lily left the room. “How does he think he has a chance with her?” Mary asked in disbelief.

“I can hear you, you know!” Potter yelled back.

But Mary just remained looking at him, “Okay, then answer my question.”

But he didn’t have an answer so both girls laughed before Marlene replied, “I think you’d have a better chance with literally anyone else in the school, Potter!”

“Fine, either of you two ladies free later?” He inquired cheekily.

Neither girls needed to reply though, they knew he wasn’t serious and they would never humour it anyway. First of all, they would never do such a thing to Lily and inflict his presence on her any more than it already had to be. And secondly, they were not actually interested in dating the boy at all. Talking quieter so they wouldn’t eavesdrop ay longer, Marlene asked, “Do you think that if you went out with him, Black would just tag along too?”

“Oh Merlin, probably, and I don’t know which would be worse!”

Marlene wrinkled her nose, “I’d rather not think about either.”

The two girls stayed up gossiping for some time, until Madam Pomphrey ushered everyone away, including Sirius who would apparently be fine and it was only Marlene who needed overnight attention. She cursed Black as he left, a smug smile on his face.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~*

The night Marlene had to spend in the infirmary only intensified their name calling. If they so much as passed one another in the hallway, Marlene would mutter the first insult that came to her head and he always returned it. A few times, she would raise her wand if she was in a bad enough mood, but always resisted actually hexing him.

“Shut it, you narcissistic cow,” Marlene snapped towards Black one afternoon when they were waiting for their class to start and Sirius was talking too loudly to his friends about the girl who had her lips around his ‘little Sirius’ the previous night.

“You’ve got to work on your insults, Kinnon!”

“I have to do no such thing,” she replied, leaning against a wall. They were all waiting for The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to show up, but he had been late for every class all year and rumours were that he would be sacked by the time the year ended.

“You still call me ‘Poodle Head’.”

“Because you have a stupid Poodle Head, you plonker.”

“A little better, but try some creativity.”

“I don’t need any, you insensitive tit-fuck.”

“Did you just make that up?” Dorcas asked her, interrupting their pointless argument.

“Whether she did or not, that is detention for you, Miss McKinnon,” their Professor finally showed up and Marlene groaned loudly, using another few choice curse words which also lost her some points from Gryffindor.

Sirius had managed to stay out of detention for the rest of the day and was on his best behaviour. Marlene wondered why until the evening came and he hung out over her, watching her clean some of the trophies by hand, clearly having kept his night clear for this reason alone. “Get out of here dickface,” she groaned but Sirius only tutted her.

“Words like that may loose us more points, don’t you think McKitten. Now behave like a good little kitty and-“

His words, combined with the angle of his stance and Marlene being on her hands and knees got them both into further detention. However once Marlene explained what happened, Professor McGonagall, reversed it and made Sirius finish her duties while letting her go early. Marlene was sure it was the best memory she had made at Hogwarts so far. She skipped away, briefly looking back at Sirius who’s eyes were starring daggers at her, probably already trying to plot his revenge.

* ~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *~ *

It was half way through their forth year, and Sirius suddenly had a reputation with the ladies. He had slept with enough of them now everyone was dying for their fifteen seconds of fame with Sirius Black. Marlene was disgusted by the whole thing. Not that her own reputation was much better at this point. Everyone started calling her easy because she went from boyfriend to boyfriend, each one lasting somewhere around two months. But she shrugged off the comments and rumours easily. Other people making assumptions about her sex life didn’t bother her, but the double standard was not missed on her or on Lily. While Sirius was being praised and everyone was falling in love with them, Marlene was being called all sorts of things for the same sort of habits. And yet again it only added to the dynamic of how much the two disliked each other.

“Careful Black, that one is falling for you. Maybe spend at least two nights with her.” Marlene said dryly when she watched a girl practically drooling over him

“I’d rather a good two nights than a mediocre two months,” He replied with a passive aggressive wink, causing some of the people around them dropping their own conversations to listen to see if it would be Marlene and Sirius’ next big fight.

“I wouldn’t talk about things you don’t actually know, Black. A bunch of older girls each only lasting one night could just as easily mean that you don’t know what you’re doing down there.”

“If  that were the case, then I don’t think any other girls would want my attention.” He reported simply.

Marlene rolled her eyes, arms crossing against her chest, “There are plenty of dumb girls at this school. Maybe they’re just after the Black fortune.”

Sirius laughed, “Well I hope not, because my mom is giving that to my brother for sure!”

And it went on. Every day. Until the end of the year. Even Lily had grown tired of it and as they went home for the summer she said what she was most looking forward to was not having to listen to Marlene complain about Sirius for two whole months.

[rockofcalifa]

Grace Is a Weapon - Ch0&1

30 day novel writing challenge - DAY 30 “post the first chapter of your work!”

CHAPTER 0

"After you have verified the identifying information is correct, please select the placement test you will be taking today," M. Petra read, word-for-word, from their computer; "Be sure that you choose the correct test, as this selection is not reversible. When you are finished, please look up."

I snuck furtive glances around the room, wiping a sweaty palm on my pant leg, wondering how my classmates were so relaxed. I scrolled through the alphabetical options, mindful of my guidance counselor's words of advice. Still undecided, I had paid them an emergency visit last month. "It's understandable that you don't yet know what you want to do with your career," they had told me. "But I think - this is a subjective recommendation - you should test for the priesthood... besides, priests have such varied positions; surely you'll find one that suits you."

I reached the "P" section and selected "Priesthood" before I could think about it too much. Looking up as instructed, I glanced to the front corner of the room, where Pascal was sitting - they gave me a sidelong smile and a reassuring thumbs-up.

"After I begin the timer and start your tests, you will have two hours to complete as much as you can. Remember, marks are given for correct answers, and an incomplete or blank question will not detract from your score." A pause. "You may begin."

Questions appeared on my screen; I scrolled through the first few, feeling more at ease now that I was committed. I noted the various types of questions. Some basic info-regurgitation in multiple choice form:

“Which of the following encyclicals was written first?”

“Pr. Crafa’s most recent legislative measure, HP122, was enacted because of which issue?”

The ever-present short answer:

"In four sentences or less, explain the nature of God's person";

“Briefly define the term ‘Worthy.’”

Some analyses-from-the-text:

"Using the below documents, reconcile Council Legislation G56 with Vatic's Encyclical on Gender"

"Using the below text from Pr. Najaf's 2249 From Strife to Devotion, demonstrate the residual effects of the civil war on their early government."

Yes, this would be easier than I'd studied for. I began to type, in response to the latter: "Looking back on their life from the year 2249, Pr. Najaf had the privilege of viewing events through a lens over 50 years removed from the civil war..."

The allotted two hours flew past as I dumped facts, figures, and, in some places, falsehoods onto the screen before me in their various requested forms. After the form closed, my screen turning black, relief was quickly replaced by worry over how I’d performed and the alarming possibility that the questions had been trickier than I’d thought.

Pascal was waiting for me in the hall. “Easy?” they whispered, and I shrugged noncommittally.

“How was bio?” I asked.

“Pshh.” Clearly their biology exam had been a breeze. “Hey, you still on for helping me with my speech thing?”

“Of course.” Although I was certain they could write a perfectly suitable oration on their own. As class valedictorian, Pascal was tasked with delivering some sort of address at our graduation next week.

They nodded. “Let’s find an empty room.”

Farther away from the rooms of testing students, we could speak above a whisper, and I began proposing ideas. “I was thinking, it’s always safe to start out by thanking everybody, you know, everyone likes to be thanked -”

“So, so maybe a, ‘I’d like to thank everyone who helped us on the way here -”

“But maybe a lighter tone at the beginning? You know, and then go into that bit.”

We’d arrived at Pascal’s favorite biology classroom, an airy space lined with large tables instead of the usual single-person desks; I turned on the projector, which was old and took a moment to start up, and picked up a marker. “One,” they dictated as I wrote, “start with something light. Two, the thank-yous, then…”

“Then some sappy reflections -”

“Not too sappy.” I noted this under point three. “What else is there to say?”

“Hopeful predictions for the future? Along the lines of, whatever direction our future careers will take us…”

CHAPTER 1

“...I know that as we move forward and reach new heights, we'll remember those who helped us get where we are, and to whom we dedicate our efforts. And whatever the direction of our future careers, I look forward to the many productive, favorable, Worthy years to come. Thank you.”

I applauded, but Pascal didn’t smile. “You sure about that last bit? Doesn’t it seem a little too… religious? Theologically charged?” they asked.

“We could take it out if you want,” I conceded, “but there’s not much time, and you know teachers and priests just love that stuff.”

“True, true.” They rubbed their eyes. “No, it’s good. I’m just hyperventilating in a corner, mentally.”

“You’ll do great,” I assured them. “It’s almost time; should we join everybody in the lobby?” They nodded, and we left the classroom after I turned off the board and lights. For the moment, I wasn’t feeling stressed or anxious. After I’d learned yesterday that I’d passed my career placement exam, my greatest concerns had been ironing my uniform, relishing the second-to-last day I would be living in my family’s apartment, and showing up at graduation early enough to run through Pascal’s speech one last time.

The small lobby was packed with identically uniformed students, walking sets of dark blue jackets and trousers occasionally moving aside to let family members through into the gym - these had been my classmates for the past four years, some of them even twelve, and only a few of them would be joining the priesthood with me. Pascal, for instance, would be moving directly into a research apprenticeship at the National Center for Genetic Research-- though they were a special case, having already completed several professional-level research projects in the realm of genetic audiology. I felt slightly proud whenever this was brought up, believing that they had been inspired down this path by the glitchy calculation, made by an under-qualified geneticist, which had resulted in my being born deaf, left with an antiquated and sometimes faulty hearing implant.

Dackon Thais came over to talk to Pascal as soon as they noticed us. I wasn't quite sure how Dackon, who had a quiet reputation for illegally exploring and painting the abandoned buildings on the city outskirts, had ended up as Pascal’s romantic interest, had found themselves in such a crowd as the two of us. Pascal and I didn't cause trouble. We did our homework on time; we kept ourselves out of restricted areas; we refrained from expressing illicit religious beliefs.

“I totally thought I failed that exam,” Dackon told Pascal, sounding almost disappointed.

“What? You didn’t?” Pascal joked. “I’m very disappointed in you, M. Thais. I expected more from you, and yet…”

I tuned them out, looking around the low-ceilinged space, waving hello to a few scattered acquaintances. Nikola Kimura made eye contact, smiled at me, and I smiled back. Friendliness was a pretense we kept up quite well. We had been friends once, yes, before they or their parent started caring about the socioprofessional implications of their connections. But that had been years ago. They now stood surrounded by a group of confidants, and although they were short they still stood out: they were good-looking, with their straight black hair cut energetically short, and they were naturally bestowed with an air of total self-confidence.

Pr. Nystroom entered the room, standing out in their purple uniform, and we quieted. This tired old fellow was the chief priest for secondary education and had been doing their rounds officiating graduations at all the schools in the area and didn’t appear to have taken it well.

“All right, let’s go in, single file, alphabetical order, all follow after me,” they commanded, and I left Pascal and Dackon behind for the front section of the line.

In the gym, family members filled rows of grey plastic folding chairs - in a usual assembly we'd be responsible for setting these up and taking them down, but today was our day, and we were exempt. A tan mat had been unrolled underfoot to cover the lines on the floor used for various sports, I suppose to provide an official air to the ordeal. It was quiet as we processed in; after we sat down in the raised area at the head of the gym, we feigned interest as the choir sang two hymns undercut by the quiet rumbling of murmurs.

Pr. Nystroom ascended to the plexiglass podium at the side of the stage to make his opening remarks, suddenly appearing comfortable, in their element. “Thank you, friends and family of our students, and welcome to our renowned assembly space!” That solicited a laugh. “We’re here today to recognize our students’ many accomplishments and send them forward into the next, exciting chapters of their lives…”

As I half-listened to Pr. Nystroom’s homilizing, I searched the crowd for my family. I found them near the front - of course Tian would have arrived early. I was to be their first to leave the colloquial nest and they had been acting clingy lately. Beside Tian, Tian Jr., nicknamed Teeny, sat in Pazi’s lap. Unlike Teeny, who was only three years old, Pazi was younger than me by only a year, and we were often mistaken for twins when we were younger. We shared the same broad nose, medium brown skin, and curly, brown-orange hair that they wore long and I wore short. Nowadays, however, we weren’t likely to be seen together. The Venn diagram of our social circles was sparsely populated in the middle, and they stubbornly expressed little interest in my affairs. It didn’t surprise me that Tian had been able to drag them here, though, Tian’s will being slightly stubborner. Beside Pazi sat Julian, Tian’s good friend, themselves a priest and enthusiastic about my career choices; on Tian’s other side, Nanna, my one grandparent. All were gazing intently at the speaker, except for Pazi, who had turned her attention to someone sitting in the rows behind me, and Teeny, who had found something interesting on the ceiling.

After the school principal made much the same remarks Pr. Nystroom had given, the priest retook the podium. “I now have the pleasure of introducing our student speaker for this afternoon,” they said, and paused to clear their throat. I suppressed a grin. “Please welcome M. Nikola Kimura.”

I gasped audibly and received quizzical looks from those sitting around me. They wouldn’t know this was wrong. Surely the mistake would be sorted out. Maybe there would be two student speakers? Poor Pascal must be panicking right about now. They didn’t handle surprises well.

“Thank you, Pr. Nystroom, and thank you all for your attendance and support,” Nikola began.

The first words had seemed familiar, and as they continued I realized why. They were reading Pascal’s talk, the talk the two of us had written. No, they weren’t reading it. There was nothing there for them to read from, that I could see. They had memorized it. I was stunned. Yes, Pascal had turned in her planned remarks for approval, but how had Nikola obtained them? What was going on?

I could anticipate each turn of phrase before they recited it, but the memorization was imperfect - either they had been rushed or they had taken editorial license. A large section in the middle, which contained some of Pascal’s personal experiences and would obviously not have been Nikola’s own work, had been cleverly excised. But they hadn’t bothered to replace it with anything. And I would have noted how this significantly decreased the overall emotional appeal if I hadn’t been occupied with freaking out.

Nikola’s expression not visible to me, I looked for the other Kimuras in the audience. Pr. Luis Kimura, highest ranking Justice representative on the General Council, had brought two junior Justice Priests with him; they sat in the front row. Three smug smiles emerged above tall purple collars; the two junior priests whispered to each other. Luis had made me somewhat uncomfortable from a young age, when I had tried to avoid going to play at Nikola’s house whenever possible, tried to avoid their parent’s dour, forbidding presence. Kimura’s second child, Phuong, was absent.

“I know that as we move forward and reach new heights, we'll remember those who helped us get where we are, and to whom we dedicate our efforts. And whatever the direction of our future careers, I look forward to the many productive, favorable, Worthy years to come. Thank you.” Polite applause. Nikola rushed back to their seat, eyes downcast, lips pursed. That was not the look of a willing participant.

Pr. Nystroom resumed the podium, still clapping. “Ok, ok, yes, thank you.” They paused as the crowd subdued itself. “We will now recognize diplomas and awards.”

There were no physical diplomas to be given out, paper memorabilia being “a vanity and a waste.” As opposed to this dated ceremony, which was a holdover from a previous time but, we were assured, neither vain nor wasteful.

We had practiced this part of the ordeal a week previously. I knew my name would be called third, but when I heard “Maram Alaui,” I was still caught off guard, and jumped to my feet. Smiled as Nystroom noted that I had received the Crafa Award for Theological Writing. The award was, in my mind, a joke, “theological writing” being particularly God-centered school assignments, which apparently I had a particular knack for fabricating. But I grinned in my family’s direction anyway, to let them see my excitement.

The names and recognitions would continue for a while. I wanted to figure out what had just happened. Who had orchestrated this? Luis might have, betrayed by that smug look on their face, but that also might have been their way of expressing parently pride. If their motive had been to make Nikola look more impressive, I wasn’t sure they had succeeded, but they probably had the power to pull off such a move. I tried to recall if Nystroom had made any indication they knew something was amiss. Surely they had been aware, but had they been complicit, or just an unwilling participant?

I knew my family would be waiting for me, but I sought out Pascal as soon as the event concluded. Dackon had gotten there first, and stood with a hand on their shoulder. “It’s fine,” Pascal said to me as I approached. “I don’t know, it’ll get sorted out.” They looked tired.

“Do you think -” I tried. They held up their hand.

“Don’t bother. Please. It’s no use, it’s over now. I think I know what’s going on, but...”

I waited, but no end to the sentence was forthcoming. It seemed like they didn’t want me around just now. “Well, I have to go pack up the rest of my stuff. If you need anything…”

They nodded, and I left.

[newstfionline]

Rejection by the King of Nepal Was Not the End of the Road

Melody Schreiber, NPR, September 21, 2018

Kul Chandra Gautam was born in a rural village with no electricity or running water, no doctors and schools. The nearest town with a market was a five-day walk away.

He left home at age 7 to study--and study he did. He was one of the first people in the world to learn English from a Peace Corps volunteer, and his outstanding grades eventually won him a full scholarship to Dartmouth.

But getting there wasn’t easy.

For two years, Gautam petitioned the Nepali government for a passport so he could attend the U.S. university. But back in the 1960s, passports were given only to people of privilege--not poor villagers. His passport request went all the way up to the king, only to be denied.

It was then Gautam vowed to do something special with his life.

“That moment came because of the injustice of not being able to get a passport,” he said on a visit to NPR headquarters last month to talk about his life and his new memoir, Global Citizen from Gulmi: My Journey from the Hills of Nepal to the Halls of United Nations.

Gautam, now 69, speaks with contagious energy, his eyes gleaming. (He exuberantly corrects the Western way of counting one’s age. He’s actually 70, he says, because in Nepal your first birthday is on the day you are born: “That seems logical to us!”)

The discrimination Gautam faced as a young man only made him fight harder. The second time he applied for a passport, a mid-level government official who had also risen from a rural village sympathized with his plight and approved his application.

Gautam was going to America.

“From that point on, I felt--ah! I have managed to do something impossible,” he says early in the interview. “Even when the king rejects you, that’s not the end of the road.”

For Gautam, the road would extend all the way to a top leadership position with the United Nations.

In 1971, he graduated from Dartmouth, where he studied international relations, after just three years. Next, he received his master’s degree in economic development and modernization from Princeton University’s Woodrow Wilson School in 1973.

After that, he ascended the ranks of the United Nations, beginning as a program officer for UNICEF and climbing to the position of assistant secretary general of the U.N. from 2000 to 2008.

When Gautam was born, his grandfather, who had long yearned for male heirs, was elated.

“He said, ‘I want this boy to be someone special,’” Gautam recalls. “‘An educated pundit.’”

His grandfather and his father taught him all they knew, scratching letters of their Nepali dialect into the dirt with a stick. The boy quickly absorbed their knowledge. When he was 7 years old he moved to a village across the river to learn from a local teacher--the first in a series of moves farther and farther from home in the pursuit of education.

In 1962, Gautam was a seventh-grader in a town called Tansen, one of the first outposts for volunteers with a new organization, the Peace Corps. Gautam knew only a few English words then--not enough to string together a sentence--but he excelled under the volunteers’ tutelage.

His education didn’t stop when school did; Gautam would tag along with his teachers after class. They taught him how to play chess and Scrabble; soon enough, he began beating them.

One volunteer told him if he kept up his education, he might one day study in America.

There are times when the right encouragement, the right promise, echoes in your head and lodges in your heart. Even now, half a century later, Gautam’s face still lights up at the promise of that dream.

The idea of studying in the United States stayed with him. More specifically, Gautam decided, he wanted to attend Dartmouth--the alma mater of a volunteer who had lent him books.

In the final year of high school, Gautam enlisted the help of his old Peace Corps teachers and took college entrance exams.

“Apparently, surprisingly, I did very well,” he says with characteristic humility. He still calls himself “a little village boy” and says that his village was, “by Nepali standards, not very remote”--a mere five-day walk to the nearest small city.

At one point, he mentions in passing that he was one of the most accomplished students in all of Nepal. He was recounting his explanation to a low-level government employee why he should be granted the passport.

“Obviously, he was suspicious, you know, ‘How did he get this scholarship? This is abnormal.’ And I explained everything, you know, I have a very good record in school, I’m at the top of the whole country in the final school-leaving exams.”

“But qualification is not the main criteria” for getting a passport, he says, shrugging nonchalantly. “There’s one possible criteria: It is who you are related to.”

Yet this poor Nepali villager not only gained entrance to one of the most prestigious schools in the United States--he was offered a full scholarship.

When he tells his story, Gautam is sure to emphasize his good luck along with his hard work and determination. But he also clearly has a faculty for winning people over.

When he speaks of the government official who eventually helped him get a passport, he tugs on his ear just like the official did five decades ago--an impromptu sign for “Listen, here’s the way we have to do this,” a code between two villagers of how they’d work within the system to conquer it.

At UNICEF, where he eventually became deputy executive director, Gautam was part of the push to vaccinate 80 percent of the world’s children by 1990--an enormously ambitious and ultimately successful campaign.

In addition to vaccines, UNICEF encouraged health workers to monitor children’s growth and introduced oral rehydration therapy to combat diarrhea and dehydration--a major killer of children.

To encourage breastfeeding in places where unclean water caused many infections, like Brazil, Gautam enlisted the mother of soccer superstar Pelé.

“Of course, he is the best football player in the world,” Pelé’s mother said, patting the shoulder of her son in an image that was plastered on billboards around the country. “I breastfed him!”

All of these improvements have had a massive impact. But to reach the remaining children in need, Gautam says, global health and development workers must take a multi-pronged approach.

“You do whatever you can do. It’s not one versus the other,” he says. “We work on multiple fronts.”

He is optimistic about the progress the world has made battling preventable diseases and improving the well-being of millions around the globe. For instance, when he was growing up, his village had no school. About 95 percent of men and 100 percent of women were illiterate. It was rare for a woman to receive any education, he says.

Today, there are five primary schools in his village alone. And more girls than boys attend the public schools in his village, Gautam says.