Motherhood, Cleaved

cleave1split or sever (something), especially along a natural line or grain."the large ax his father used to cleave wood for the fire" cleave2stick fast to."Rose's mouth was dry, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth" adhere strongly to (a particular pursuit or belief)."part of why we cleave to sports is that excellence is … Continue reading Motherhood, Cleaved

Conflicting. Conflicted.

“You ate octopus,” I say, my eyes wrinkled with laughter. I sneak glances at the back seat where all three of my children are sitting, seat belts holding them back. They are laughing. “What?!” Pattu is amused and shocked. Ammu grows quiet. “You mean we were meat eaters before you changed us?” the question is … Continue reading Conflicting. Conflicted.

Identity And Belonging

Two nights ago, I sat in a darkened room at my local library with a bunch of strangers watching a documentary on race. "I am or How Jack Became Black” by Eli Steele is one of those rare movies that catalyzes uncomfortable conversations. I stood by the small table I had set up with snacks … Continue reading Identity And Belonging

Names, Birthdays, Identity – Grappling With All Things Adoption

  “Pattu, Pattu! Laddu has grown up. She has hair on her legs just like our cousin. Soon she will be tall and have three babies. Two adopted and one borned to her…” “I will adopt all three of mine.” “I want to born mine. No adoption for me…” The conversation catches my attention and … Continue reading Names, Birthdays, Identity – Grappling With All Things Adoption

Of Struggling With Labels

“I don’t like my fake name” muttered Ammu, my first daughter. I was bent over the stove tossing rice noodles in a base of lemon and sesame oil. The heady aroma of tempered mustard and curry leaves almost made me miss the statement. A part of me always attuned to disturbances in the air peaked … Continue reading Of Struggling With Labels

Recalibration

The morning stretches lazily like a ribbon or a band of elastic. The minutes inching their way slowly to the hour. Breakfast is over, Saathi is yet to return from his weekly tennis ritual. Laddu is content to sit beside me and hold my ear. The twins look mutinous because I told them they could … Continue reading Recalibration