In the midst of stir-frying a melange of vegetables for my children’s’ lunchbox, I reach out for my phone. I
My desk has stacks of paper. Yellow envelopes filled with sheets I need to fill, a checklist of largely unchecked
It was 1:30 PM, that time of the day when I prioritize napping over everything else when the phone rang.
She flicks a tear from her cheek, her nervous laugh a cover for unexpected emotion. Pattu reaches out, her fingers
The timer on the microwave went off signaling it was time for me to leave. I turned the stove off
They sit side by side, their blonde locks sticking up with the static in the air. They leave a trail
I walk in after dropping my youngest daughter at daycare. I see evidence of the morning rush near the shoe
I watch as Ammu steps out of the garage into the sun. I watch as she mulls walking through the
Laddu is on her chair, the booster seat enabling to see the food in front of her. Saathi and I
“You have American friends! It is OK for Indians to be friends with Americans?” Pattu is at the kitchen island
As I turned the lights out last Tuesday night, the last thing imprinted on my mind were the plastic bags
I put away clothes and tidy up the bedroom picking up stray doll parts and mini bags stuffed with blocks.
The clock showed a minute to 9:00 PM. The sole light in the vast expanse of our first floor came
Pre Kay and Cee, weekends looked like this: 8:30 – 9:00 – Wake up possibly 9:30 – 1:00 – Cook
Stepping out my shower, I heard Amma’s voice unusually calm asking “Are you done? Please come out. Cee is bleeding.”.
10:30 PM – Call it a day 11:30 PM – Sounds of Cee crying. Wonder if I should let her