Goodable

This is Junior. At three years old he contracted Polio and was never able to run as fast as the other kids. To compensate for his disability, he would dance along to music videos, mixing gymnastics and martial arts. Today, he's one of the best B-boy dancers in the world. "I have always tried to turn my disability into an advantage," he says. "The best example is dancing. When I was little, I would dance along to Michael Jackson videos. To compensate for moves I couldn't do, I came up with my own mix of gymnastics and martial arts."

<p>Junior Bosila Banya, aka B-Boy Junior, is one of the most iconic breakers in the history of the scene. He's famous for his handstand acrobatics and strength - both physically and mentally.</p><p>When he was three years old, Junior contracted polio. But he was determined not to let anything dictate his limitations."I have always tried to turn my disability into an advantage," he says. "The best example is dancing. When I was little, I would dance along to Michael Jackson videos. To compensate for moves I couldn't do, I came up with my own mix of gymnastics and martial arts – moves I could do on my hands."</p>

World-Class BBoy Breakdances Despite Leg Disability

Kare11 NBC

Larry Koch spends his career helping build real cities, the kind designed to stand for decades. Every winter, he builds a different kind of city, one that lasts just long enough to be admired before it’s tossed out with the crumbs.

“This is Paris,” Larry says, pointing to a video on his laptop. The Eiffel Tower never looked more delicious, shaped from cookies, candy, crackers, and frosting. For 18 years, Larry, along with family, co workers, friends, and curious neighbors, has been recreating famous cities in astonishing edible detail. One year it was Paris. Another winter brought Rome, complete with the Vatican, the Colosseum, and the Pantheon, all sourced from the baking aisle instead of a lumberyard.

Last fall, Larry decided it was time to build something closer to home.

“It does kind of remind you that we have a pretty neat city,” he says, standing in his Edina home and looking over a brightly colored miniature Minneapolis.

This year’s sugary skyline stretches from the Grain Belt Beer sign to the Lake Harriet Bandshell. Between them sit lovingly crafted versions of the Stone Arch Bridge, the Basilica of St. Mary, the IDS and Foshay towers, the Sculpture Garden, and other landmarks that give Minneapolis its familiar shape. All shrunk down, all edible, all made with care.

“I can't even begin to guess how many hours it takes,” Larry’s wife, Kerry, says.

Kerry has her own role in this winter tradition. She makes the frosting. A lot of frosting. Roughly 40 pounds each year, enough to coat buildings, glue structures together, patch cracks, and rescue countless leaning towers. She scrolls through photos on her phone showing kitchen counters covered in bowls, bags, and clouds of powdered sugar. “This is kind of the extent of what the kitchen looks like for about a week or two,” she says.

She also got a special assignment this season. “I did the little Mary Tyler Moore,” Kerry says, laughing as she holds up a figure no bigger than a fingertip, tossing her tiny beret in front of the white house made famous in the 1970s sitcom set in Minneapolis.

Each December, Larry assembles the pieces in the entryway of their home, building the city block by block on top of a cabinet. The goal is always the same: finish by Christmas. But by February, another ritual follows.

“I pull all the lights and stuff out of it, and then we throw it away,” Larry says. “It’s part of the nature of it.”

This year’s Mini Apple was inspired partly by the 100th anniversary of the Basilica. But the couple says the timing felt meaningful in other ways too. As Minneapolis found itself in the national spotlight amid ICE’s Operation Metro Surge, the diorama glowing at the Kochs’ front door offered a softer look at the city. A reminder of neighborhoods, landmarks, and the sense of place people share.

“I love Minneapolis,” Kerry says. “It’s a good reminder when things are heavy, we have a lot to be very grateful for here.”

And so the cycle continues. Larry builds cities that endure in his day job, and cities that melt back into memory in his living room. One lasting just long enough to lift spirits, light up a holiday and remind people why they love where they live.

Family Crafts Miniature Minneapolis Using Frosting, Crackers And Candy

Good News Network

For many people leaving an abusive partner, the most dangerous moment is the moment they try to walk out the door. The logistics alone can stop someone in their tracks. Boxes, trucks, timing, safety. It can feel impossible. That is why a California moving company has spent the past 25 years turning its business into a lifeline.

Meathead Movers, the state’s largest independently owned moving company, has been offering free moving services to domestic violence survivors for decades. The company’s founders, brothers Aaron and Evan Steed, started helping survivors long before the idea became a national model. They were young, running a growing business, and seeing firsthand how desperate the need was.

“These moves became very personal to us,” Aaron told GNN in 2015. “They made all the employees so proud, and became part of our mission statement.”

Their work resonated far beyond California. In 2015, Meathead Movers launched a coalition called #MoveToEndDV, inviting other companies to do the same. Eight moving companies across the country joined, and more than 200 businesses pledged free services of their own. The network now includes self storage companies, cleaners, and even security firms in three California cities that will send a guard during a survivor’s move.

Last year alone, Meathead Movers completed 106 domestic violence-related moves for free, including eight emergency relocations in San Luis Obispo, Ventura County, Orange County, Fresno and Bakersfield.

The idea has sparked ripple effects. After reading about the program, a moving company owner in Fort Worth, Texas reached out to ask how they could participate despite not having the budget. Aaron suggested dedicating one day a month, with employees volunteering their labor. Nearly the entire staff agreed, and today that company, Veterans Moving America, works with shelters to support local survivors.

They are not alone. Other companies that have joined #MoveToEndDV include Helping Hands Moving and Maids in Salt Lake City, We Help! Cincinnati Movers in Ohio, Elite Moving Services in Des Moines, Gentle Giant in Boston, Parks Moving and Storage in Pennsylvania, Always Professional Moving in Phoenix, and Brown Box Movers in Dallas.

The process is structured for safety. Shelters screen each request before movers arrive. It protects the survivor and the moving crew. “What’s good about that is, they can be vetting the requests for help, supporting the women with counseling, and making sure when we went in, the proper restraining orders were in place, or police were on hand if necessary,” Aaron explained.

In 2020, the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence took over facilitation of #MoveToEndDV. With more resources and access to shelters nationwide, the partnership has expanded the reach of a program built on something simple: take your skills and use them to help someone rebuild.

Employees say the work changes them too. It is hard to forget the moment a family steps into a truck with nothing but a chance at a safer life. The sense of purpose spreads quickly through a team, and often through a community.

“These women are completely abandoning their life as they know it and trying to rebuild from scratch, and businesses are rallying together for them,” Aaron said. “We want them to know that people in the community have their back. We want to do this in communities all over the country.”

For survivors, that support can mean the difference between staying and getting out. For the companies involved, it has become proof that an ordinary service can carry an extraordinary impact.

Movers Offer Free Moving Services to Domestic Violence Survivors, Expands Nationwide Initiative

People

E. Royce Williams spent more than half a century unable to talk about the most defining 35 minutes of his life. Now, at 100 years old, the retired Navy captain is finally set to receive the United States' highest military honor for it.

On Feb. 4, President Trump called Williams to personally tell him he will be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, according to a statement from California Rep. Darrell Issa. The announcement follows the passage of the 2026 National Defense Authorization Act, which included Issa’s legislation making Williams eligible for the award.

Issa has been one of Williams’ most vocal champions. In December, he described the veteran as “a Top Gun pilot like no other and an American hero for all time.” His push stemmed from a dogfight Williams fought on Nov. 18, 1952, during the Korean War, a battle that remained buried in classified files for decades.

That day, Williams launched in his F9F 5 Panther from the USS Oriskany and soon found himself alone against seven Soviet MiG 15s. He shot down four of them while taking a 37 millimeter hit to his fuselage, a strike so precise that “six inches to the right or left would have meant certain death.”

Somehow, despite the damage, Williams managed what Issa called a “near perfect” landing back on the carrier floating in the Sea of Japan. His aircraft was later found to have 263 bullet holes.

Issa said the actions Williams took in that encounter “saved the lives of his fellow pilots, shipmates and crew.” He called the story “one for the ages,” and said the Medal of Honor finally gives it “its rightful chapter.”

At the time, Williams was ordered not to speak about what happened. He followed that instruction for more than 50 years. It was not until Soviet records were released in 1992 that the scale of his achievement became fully documented. The Navy awarded him a Silver Star, later upgraded to the Navy Cross in 2023 after a long campaign by Issa and others.

“What Royce did is, still to this day, the most unique U.S.-Soviet aerial combat dogfight in the history of the Cold War,” Issa said. “It is my honor to have fought all these years for Royce to gain a recognition that he has not sought, but so richly deserves.”

For Williams, the recognition felt surreal. “Oh, I put it out of my mind because, can't talk about it. I thought that was forever,” he told local outlet KGTV. The secrecy had been so ingrained that even after the mission was declassified in 2002, he had to relearn how to talk about what he had done.

He recalled the moment the MiGs appeared. “I could see clearly because of their contrails that there were seven, and as they flew over me, I could see that they were MiG 15s. A superior fighter airplane.” A malfunction forced the rest of his flight to turn back, leaving him alone to face them.

But Williams said he felt prepared and oddly calm. “I was ready to fight in all aspects,” he said. “I had a chance to shoot. And I was pretty good at it.”

The dogfight stretched to roughly 35 minutes, a lifetime in aerial combat. After returning to the ship, Williams later told his wife about the day’s events. Her response, he said, was a simple, gently scolding, “Oh, Royce.”

Williams said his phone call was direct. “He said I'm getting the Medal of Honor.” The date of the ceremony has not yet been announced.

For decades, Williams’ story lived only on paper in locked government files. Soon, it will be read aloud before a room filled with people who finally get to celebrate it.

Royal Family Welcomes New Member As Prince And Princess Announce Birth Of Baby Girl

Al Jazeera

Gaza City has no shortage of noise these days, so the quiet inside one small tent feels almost out of place. A handful of kids sit cross legged on a mat, eyes closed, doing their best to focus while the rest of the world rumbles outside. Some take it seriously. Others crack a shy smile and peek to see if anyone else looks as unsure as they feel. It is not a typical scene in northern Gaza, but that is the point.

The tent belongs to Palestinian teacher Hadeel al Gharbawi, who decided that if she could not shield children from the conflict, she could at least give them a few minutes that feel different. She has been experimenting with activities that help kids manage trauma. Eventually she landed on yoga, something she had only seen online.

“I wanted to expand the activities I do with children beyond drawing and colouring. I searched online and discovered that yoga can help children recover from trauma,” al Gharbawi told Al Jazeera. She said she realized no one was offering it in Gaza City, so she taught herself and then started adapting it for kids living through constant stress. “Through yoga, they can release stress and cope with the difficult life around them.”

The need is clear. Children in Gaza have lived with repeated shocks for years. A report by the World Health Organization says cycles of violence and instability have left young people facing emotional distress, social withdrawal, grief and an array of physical and psychological symptoms. Constant bombing, repeated displacement and the loss of family members shape almost every part of their lives.

International agencies have been warning that the effects will last long after the fighting stops. Earlier this month, the UNICEF said “all children in Gaza require mental health, and psychosocial support services after two years of horrific war, displacement, and exposure to traumatic events.”

Inside al Gharbawi’s tent, the goal is simple. For the length of a class, she wants children to feel calm and even a little in control. The kids follow breathing exercises, stretch in ways that feel new to them, and try to let their shoulders drop just a bit. They are not here to perfect a pose. They are here to feel human again.

Suwar, one of the displaced students who attends the sessions, said the classes help soften the weight of daily life. “We come here to do yoga, to learn and to do art,” she told Al Jazeera. “These activities allow us to forget, even for a short time, the war, the harsh weather and the queues for water. Yoga, in particular, gives us a moment of calm and helps us feel safe and happy.”

Al Gharbawi has layered the yoga sessions with educational and recreational programs. She runs drawing activities, small lessons, and group games that give kids a chance to use their imagination, something she said many have lost the space to do. “Combining learning with playful and therapeutic activities helps the children deal with trauma and regain a sense of normalcy,” she said.

Normalcy can mean something as small as laughing with a classmate or finishing an exercise without interruption. It can mean having one part of the day that does not revolve around survival. In Gaza, that counts for a lot.

The tent itself is modest. The mat is thick enough to cushion the ground and soft enough to feel welcoming. Kids shuffle in wearing layers to fight the cold and carry the tired look of children who have seen too much. The space fills quickly, and for many, these few minutes are the only time they are not expected to be alert.

Even the simple act of closing their eyes carries weight. It signals trust, if only briefly, in a place where trust has become a luxury. Al Gharbawi knows yoga will not erase fear or grief, but she sees the small changes. A deeper breath. A steadier posture. The moment when a child decides to try again rather than give up.

The sessions are not a solution to the war. They are not meant to be. They are a small effort to help children hold on to pieces of themselves that might otherwise be lost. For now, that is what al Gharbawi can offer, and for many families, it is more than enough.

In a corner of Gaza City, in a tent with a mat and a teacher who refused to give up on the idea of calm, a group of children keeps gathering. The world outside has not changed, but inside the tent, for a little while, something does.

Yoga Classes are Bringing Moments Of Peace To Gaza's Traumatised Children

BBC News

Thick fog, a frightened dog and a race against the clock turned into an unexpected rescue story along the Jurassic Coast. Uska, a Labrador visiting from Belgium with her owners, disappeared while being walked near Dancing Ledge just before 18:00 GMT on Saturday.

Visibility dropped fast. The dog had dashed off after deer and vanished in the murk. Darkness settled in, turning the cliffs and muddy paths into difficult terrain. Two HM Coastguard teams, from Swanage Coastguard and St Albans Coastguard, combed the area despite the conditions.

For two hours, there was no sign of her. Then the dog’s tracker, which had temporarily stopped transmitting, flickered back to life. The renewed signal led rescuers to her, tired but safe.

She was reunited with her owners soon after, ending the night with relief and a few overwhelmed tears instead of a missing pet report.

Coastguard Rescues Lost Labrador After Two-Hour Search on Dorset's Jurassic Coast

A small northern city is seeing big results after rethinking what justice can look like. In Fort McMurray, a restorative justice program that began with youth in 2022 has now expanded to adults, and the early numbers have become hard to ignore. Out of 115 people who have gone through the program, only one has reoffended.

For a community of about 68,000 people, that matters. Sending someone to prison or juvenile detention can ripple through neighbourhoods, workplaces and families. The program offers something different, a system built on accountability, dialogue and a path forward instead of a record that follows someone for life.

One of the clearest examples is a local teenager who the program calls Sam, not his real name. The incident that brought him into the system was sudden and serious. After being “irked” by a remark from his brother, he picked up a kitchen knife and swung. His brother managed to disarm him. Their mother called police. Sam was arrested for aggravated assault. It was the kind of case that usually ends with a conviction and years of consequences.

Instead, he was offered another route. To participate, the offender must admit responsibility, and the victim must agree to be present for that conversation. It is not an easy process. It demands honesty and emotion in a way that courtrooms rarely do.

While in the program, Sam got his driver’s license. He found a job. And somehow, the relationship with his brother that had broken in such a frightening moment began to repair. Today, the two still live together in their logging town and are rebuilding with a steadiness that surprises even some of the program’s early skeptics.

Nicole Chouinard, who manages victim services and restorative justice programs for the region through the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, says it changed her own thinking. “It has changed my view on how things could be done and how it actually heals the community as a whole,” she told CBC. She admitted she once assumed the approach was too “soft.”

Support inside RCMP leadership has been strong. Chief Superintendent Mark Hancock pushed to expand the program across the Wood Buffalo region after seeing what it accomplished in Labrador. “You have to face the person you’ve done the harm to, you have to hear how it affected them and how it affected their supporters as well,” he said. He recalled one participant saying the experience would be harder than simply going to court.

Alberta’s broader data backs up their instincts. Across the province, 21 organizations in 11 communities now run restorative justice programs. Many were created with the same goal that Fort McMurray had: to keep people out of the criminal justice system when possible and to address harm in a way that strengthens communities instead of fracturing them.

The approach is not universal and not designed for every case. But the outcomes so far show what can happen when a small city looks differently at accountability. In Fort McMurray, the math is simple. One re offender out of 115 participants. A long list of repaired relationships. A growing belief that responsibility and forgiveness can, in the right setting, work better than punishment alone.

In a northern community where everyone seems to know everyone, that shift is already being felt.

Restorative Justice Program In Fort McMurray Sees Remarkable Drop In Re Offending

Euro News

Building 88 in the Zacamil sector of San Salvador has a new landmark, and it is impossible to miss. A 13 metre tall portrait built entirely from recycled plastic lids now covers the side of the building, created by Venezuelan artist Óscar Olivares. He announced the completion of the mural on 20 February, closing out several days of work involving waste pickers, volunteers and neighbourhood groups.

More than 100,000 lids went into the piece. None were painted. Olivares kept every colour as he found it, which meant the sorting process became part of the art itself. Residents of Zacamil collected the lids, joined by recyclers from the National Association of Collectors and Recyclers of El Salvador, known locally as ASONARES. The Custom Made Stories Foundation and the company Full Painting also backed the project.

The central figure may look familiar at first glance. It is a reimagined Mona Lisa, but not the one by Leonardo da Vinci. Olivares turned her into a woman with dark skin, curly hair and wide, expressive eyes. She wears the colours of the Salvadoran flag. He calls her the Salvadoran Mona Lisa, though he stresses that she is not based on any real person. For him, she represents the everyday citizen. He says the renaissance of El Salvador and Latin America is already happening in ordinary people.

The Zacamil mural is the largest plastic lid piece he has ever created, but it is far from his first. His work with reused plastics began gaining attention in 2020 with the Oko Mural in El Hatillo, Caracas. Since then he has brought similar projects to at least six countries, from Italy to Mexico and Panama. His broader body of work spans nearly 22 countries and has appeared at events such as ArtExpo New York. Along the way he has collected recognition including the Ibero American Award for Online Entrepreneurship in 2015 and the Golden Mara Award in 2017.

For Olivares, Zacamil is not just a location. He sees it as a future open air museum. The collaboration with residents, he says, is central to that vision. Community members helped at every stage, which he describes as part of his method rather than a symbolic gesture. The mural’s size might be the headline feature, but its roots are in the people who gathered, sorted and carried the pieces that now make up a towering face above their neighbourhood.

The finished portrait looks down over the area with quiet confidence. It arrived through recycled materials, patient work and a lot of hands pitching in. That mix, Olivares says, is exactly the point.

El Salvador Celebrates World's Tallest Recycled Mural With Over 100,000 Plastic Lids

An RNLI volunteer who has spent four decades answering emergency calls along the Essex coast has now saved more than 100 lives.

Tony Bonham, 59, has logged 101 lives saved and 953 people assisted since Southend-on-Sea station began keeping detailed records in 1996, ten years after he joined. The true total, he says, is likely higher. Bonham began volunteering as a lifeguard at Shoebury West beach at age 15, later joining the lifeboat crew at 19.

"We don't look at ourselves as heroes. I've been, I've done a job, I'm getting on with work now... we never look for recognition," he said. Under RNLI definitions, a “life saved” means the person would have drowned without intervention; all other rescues are counted as assists. “There's 100 families plus that have still got their loved ones with them,” Bonham added.

The commitment is demanding and often unpredictable. “You can be out days, nights, anniversaries, Christmas Day. If you're on duty and you get a call, you've got to go,” he said. “We could be out at two in the morning... we do the job, we put everything back, make sure it's all ready. We go home to our families and carry on the next day. You might read about it in the paper; you might not."

Bonham is also seeing the tradition continue in his family. His son Tyler will soon begin as a commander at the RNLI station in Gravesend, Kent, and Bonham says Tyler’s six-year-old son already enjoys spending time at the lifeboat station — “He enjoys the cookies,” he joked.

He recently experienced a full-circle moment when he and Tyler were called out together for the first time. “He was my helm, I was his crew and it was really, really funny him being in charge,” he said. “But I still got dressed quicker and was out before him."

Bonham says he never turns his pager off and plans to continue serving. “I still feel young. I am young — I'm 59 — got many years in me to go yet,” he said, returning to duty immediately after his interview.

This RNLI Volunteer Has Saved 100 Lives After 40 Years Of Service

When people talk about purpose, it often sounds like something enormous, the kind of calling that changes the world. But a new book argues the opposite. Purpose, it says, lives in the quiet places of everyday life, where small moments of kindness make us feel valued and help us value others.

In Mattering: The Secret to a Life of Deep Connection and Purpose, author Jennifer Wallace explains that the need to matter, to feel seen and valued by others, is one of the most fundamental human drives. “After the drive for food and shelter, it is the motivation to matter that drives human behavior,” Wallace says. It shows up in our relationships, our workplaces, our communities, and in the ways we try to give back.

Research backs this up. People who feel valued and who feel able to add value to the world tend to experience better overall health, especially mental health. “The research is finding that it is linked with lower depression, lower anxiety, reduced risk of suicide,” Wallace says.

And it doesn’t require grand gestures. Wallace found that when she asked people, “When did you feel like you mattered?” the answers were almost always small things. A saved seat at a table. A colleague checking in after a difficult meeting. A neighbor dropping off soup when someone was sick. “We crave to matter in the day-to-day,” she says. “We crave to matter in the details of life.”

If you are trying to find purpose, Wallace suggests starting with small, concrete acts. Offer to walk an elderly neighbor’s dog. Check in on a single parent who might be stretched thin. At work, acknowledge your colleagues when their efforts help you succeed. “I’ve come to think of it as appreciating the doer behind the deed,” she says.

Those moments ripple outward. When someone feels valued, Wallace notes, they tend to pass that feeling forward, making mattering contagious.

Connection also helps people weather stress. In one study, participants were asked to estimate the steepness of a hill while standing alone or beside a friend. The hill looked less steep with a friend there. “Friendships act as a kind of shock absorber to stress,” Wallace says.

But people often hesitate to reach out during hard times, worried their struggles will push others away. Psychologists say the opposite is true. Sharing vulnerabilities makes us appear more authentic and brings people closer. Wallace calls it the “beautiful mess” effect.

When she faces challenges at work, she imagines that hill and asks herself, “Who can I bring next to me so that it will feel less steep?” She encourages others to do the same. Look for someone who has experienced a similar situation and invite them for coffee. Accept invitations when they come your way, and offer them freely.

Her book includes stories of people who reshaped their lives this way, like a woman going through a divorce who began hosting simple dinners with friends, or a burned-out teacher who started a weekly lunch with two colleagues and found it transformed her workdays.

Wallace also recommends a daily reflection practice. Each night, she writes down two things: When did I feel valued today? and Where did I add value today? The habit helps her end each day with clarity and gratitude.

Finding purpose, she argues, is not about chasing something bigger. It is about noticing the ways you matter to others and the small ways you make others feel that they matter too.

Small Acts, Big Meaning: New Book Says Purpose Comes From Everyday Moments of Feeling Valued

An Indian teacher who has opened more than 800 learning centers for children who have never attended school has been awarded the 1 million dollar Global Teacher Prize from GEMS Education.

Rouble Nagi’s centers operate in more than 100 slums and villages, offering safe and welcoming spaces for children facing some of the toughest barriers to education, including child labour, early marriage, irregular attendance and a lack of basic infrastructure. Instead of treating those challenges as obstacles, she builds education around the realities of daily life. Schedules are flexible for working children. Lessons use recycled materials. Skills are taught in ways that show immediate value to families.

The results have been significant. Her programs have cut dropout rates by more than half and improved long term school retention for thousands of young people.

Nagi plans to put the 1 million dollar prize toward building a free vocational institute and a digital literacy training program to reach even more marginalized youth across India.

Her journey began in her early twenties when she was asked to lead an art workshop. “I met a child who’d never seen a pencil, and it was the turning point of my life,” she said. Over the next two decades, she helped bring more than one million children into the formal education system. Art has remained one of her most effective tools. Through the Rouble Nagi Art Foundation, she has turned blank and abandoned walls into large interactive murals that teach reading, math, science, hygiene, history and environmental awareness. These murals double as open air classrooms, bringing parents into the learning process and turning entire neighborhoods into partners in education.

“Rouble Nagi represents the very best of what teaching can be, courage, creativity, compassion and an unwavering belief in every child’s potential,” said Sunny Varkey, founder of the Global Teacher Prize and GEMS Education. “By bringing education to the most marginalized communities, she has not only changed individual lives, but strengthened families and communities.”

Now in its tenth year, the Global Teacher Prize is the largest award of its kind and is run in collaboration with UNESCO. Nagi was selected from more than 5,000 nominations and applications from 139 countries. “This moment reminds us of a simple truth: teachers matter,” said Stefania Giannini, UNESCO Assistant Director General for Education. “UNESCO is honored to celebrate teachers like you, who, through patience, determination, and belief in every learner, help children into school, an act that can change the course of a life.”

Nagi, who also wrote The Slum Queen, travels extensively across India to work directly with students and to mentor the educators leading her learning centers. She has recruited and trained more than 600 volunteer and paid teachers, creating a model that adapts to children academically, socially and economically.

Alongside her education work, she maintains a career as an internationally recognized artist. Through the Rouble Nagi Design Studio, she has created more than 850 murals and sculptures and exhibited in 200 shows worldwide. Her work is included in the President of India’s permanent collection.

“Her work reminds us that teachers are the most powerful force for progress in our world.”

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