“You have American friends! It is OK for Indians to be friends with Americans?” Pattu is at the kitchen island
“I am off to read my book…” She waves the book in her hand as I look quizically. My maternal
I am on the phone with my mother in India. The handset is wedged between my neck and ear as
I watch Laddu toddle onto the driveway. The breeze lifts the hair off her neck. The exhilaration on her face
I turned around from loading the dishwasher to see if Pattu was done finishing the food left over from lunch.
The comforter is up to my chin. Laddu is sleeping alongside me, her body aligned with my back. I close
I am on the floor, sitting on a padded mattress, Laddu sitting by me as I watch five girls, two
I am bent double tying the shoe laces, the chill air from the outside seeping in from the now open
A week back I stumbled on something that crossed my timeline on Facebook, the way these memes do. I read,
I stand on the wooden steps that lead away from the kitchen into the garage, holding out pretty backpacks with swirls
Battling infertility, I watched my peers go on to have a child, or two or three. I sat through their
I circle the low-slung building that houses the elementary school scanning the sides for parking. Even as I despair of
I am leaning over the crib where Laddu lies, legs up in the air. I am about to change her
I lie sprawled on the couch. My feet touching Saathi’s as he is stretched out at the other end. Laddu
Mothering is not just rainbows and unicorns. It is the not so fine moments that do not get vocalized.
Sometime late last year, I browsed the local schools online trying to find out what the process was like to
I put away clothes and tidy up the bedroom picking up stray doll parts and mini bags stuffed with blocks.
Ammu and I sit on the recliner, our heads side to side with matching smiles that light up our faces.
The clock showed a minute to 9:00 PM. The sole light in the vast expanse of our first floor came