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Twenty-Five
Twenty-five years after I landed in Pennsylvania from Madras, the body that slept light has finally stopped bracing. On arrival, race, motherhood, and the home that turned out to be nowhere.
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My Shadow
She follows me from the first walk to the last, watching, learning, absorbing. On my youngest, the child I did not write down, and what it means to be seen by her.
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Feeling Seen
I see the photo on my Pattu’s Instagram story first. It catches me by surprise. I am at the window holding Felix our puppy, watching the birds and the bees flitting about. Felix had been cranky. I was holding him the way I would a fussy baby. Rocking imperceptibly, every part of me focused on…
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I Ran Nineteen Years of Myself Through the Matrix
I ran nineteen years of my own essays through a script that measures sentence length, reading grade, and how often I interrupt myself. What the numbers caught, and what they could not.
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The Mute Button
The night my caste essay went viral, the rage came from a familiar quarter. On naming, the backlash that proved the point, and who decides what comes into the house.
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What the Hands Know
Felix has been refusing his food. The kibble sits in his bowl untouched, so I reach for the treats he likes, the duck rounds. I pick two. They are circular, and they look and feel like cardboard. I have never had duck, so I cannot say, but if I were to eat one I imagine…
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A New Book Is Coming: Why Is My Skin Brown?
A new middle-grade novel is on the way. Sarayu is twelve, Pennsylvania-born, and about to learn that Bengaluru has its own ideas about her skin.
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Table, Menu
I was scrolling Threads on a Saturday afternoon, the fan on, a clutch of kids in the home, loud, and an orange card slid up the feed. A quote, white text on saffron. Rutger Bregman, an essay about AI, a quote set in a frame. I hopped over to read the whole thing. I nodded…
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Openness as a Practice: On WGBB’s After the Kids Move In (2026 Transcript)
A June 2026 radio conversation with AFFCNY’s Pat O’Brien and Chester Jackson: infertility grief, open adoption, and learning to hold children lightly.
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The Color Sanguine
This week I have been hard at work plumbing the depths. I sifted through years of correspondence, pored over pictures, marinated in memories from over three decades ago. Some of what I found startled me. I hold grudges. That one evening in Feb 2001 when I stood at the intersection of MG Road and Brigade…
Children's Author. Novelist. Essayist.