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Who Should Tell These Stories?
We inch our way through the dark aisles of the Movie Tavern, navigating to our assigned seats. This is one of the newer chains near Philadelphia, complete with plush reclining seats and food that is brought to us. My husband, youngest daughter, me, my twins next to each other. We munch on popcorn and sip…
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I Am Really Good At Losing People
When I was little, I lost people because I moved. I moved because my parents moved. Each year, I would start at a new place, a new school, new friends. I became adept at merging, adapting and being a wallflower. I reveled in how well I could be invisible. It was my superpower. Somewhere around…
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Just Adopt!
“I’ve always wanted to adopt,” says my friend, a faraway look in her eyes as if there exists an alternate universe she is privy to that lets her play out her fantasies. My immediate response is indignation. “You have no clue what it is like,” I want to shout. Instead I nod my head and…
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American-Indian, Indian-American
American by birth, Indian by virtue of being raised by us, the hyphen may define my twins more than either of the terms throughout their lives. “Scarlett eats meat!” M’s eyes are round, her tone incredulous. Before I can respond she adds, “We are vegetarian. We do not eat meat.” I look at her, at…
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Same, But Different
“I want to color my hair blue too!” My youngest, all of six years, holds my hand and swings as she walks. One of her older sisters walks a little ahead of us. We are on our daily evening stroll around our development. The sun has not yet set, bathing us all in a golden…
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Seeing Themselves: On Diversity in Children’s Books
“That is not cha-na, its chhan-na.” My 11-year-old daughter born and raised in America corrects the white traveler on television sampling street food somewhere in northern India. Our family is of Indian origin. We speak Tamil and English at home sprinkled liberally with words from Hindi that have made themselves part of our lexicon. “Chhan-na”…
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My Motherhood, Explained
I notice the family at the table we cross to get to ours. I notice them because they turn in unison looking us up and down, right to left and back. I notice them as they try to reconcile the story of us, the story of me. I hold her eyes, just a smidge before…
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Hands of Fate
I stepped off the plane into the chill, dry air of New Mexico, eight hours after we left that morning. Even as my husband and I made our way to baggage claim, my eyes scanned through the unread text messages and email messages from Amy. “Call me.” The message was cryptic and I felt a…
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Life Is Unfair. Deal With It.
“Fuck,” murmured Laia as she threw the phone to her side where it skittered and settled by the trim on the carpeted floor. The room was silent, lit only by the occasional headlight visible through the thin blinds of their room. Regretting the impulsive action, Laia forced herself out of bed to reach her phone.…
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Maya’s Dream
She fell with a thud. At least that is how it felt. She had been reading a book she had checked out from the library on Indian History and fallen asleep reading and dreaming about villages and rice crops. Maya opened her eyes fully expecting to have fallen off her bed. The one with the…
Children's Author. Novelist. Essayist.