She woke up with a smile. She loved dreams. And the one she had just had was delightful. She didn’t remember the details but it had something to do with wearing high heels and running through green fields with her friends from the village. In the dream, she was still a girl but her friends …
The beads of sweat that had steadily been forming on her forehead started streaming down her cheek. Her breathing was labored and her lips felt parched. It could have been the heat and humidity of a feisty summer afternoon, or the dust and mildew in the stairwell, or just nervousness at starting this new chapter …
Ali Anware died on January 11th, 2020 of a heart attack in the village of Majiri, about hundred miles south of Bombay. He was about sixty five years old. My earliest memories of Ali Uncle, or Ali Bhai or Al-lee, as he was most often called, are from my grandmother’s Nagpada apartment in the early …
My top ten memories of St. Vincent’s (in no particular order)1. The Favorites– Biladwalla – oh the disappointment went you ended up in Furtardos’ German class instead– Mascarhenas – with a body like hers she should have been a fitness guru– Leena – remember Noel placing his school bag on his thighs during her Chem …
He couldn’t quite understand how teenagers could be so listless, so dull, so lackadaisical, swaying their arms aimlessly, feet tripping over each other, some of them shouting left, others whispering right and a couple chuckling as they watched the fat one in the middle trying hopelessly to hold on to his pants This wasn’t funny …
She watched as the book flew across the classroom in a beautiful parabolic loop, pages fluttering violently, a solitary strip of tape valiantly attempting to hold on to the brown paper cover as it slowly slipped away. She had a penchant for throwing dusters and pencils and lunch boxes in the general direction of any …
“Main Zubaida, tum koan?” I heard a booming voice blare out of my headset when I called my mother last week. Every winter as the Polar Vortex descends on the Midwest my mom packs her suitcases and flies off to India. Over the years finding reliable domestic help during her stay in Pune has become …
As far as guilty pleasures go, spending an afternoon reading my spam folder ranks right up there with watching trashy Hindi films. If you haven’t seen a garishly made up heroine oozing ketchup from her mouth as she lies dying in the arms of her sweaty, hairy and slightly balding lover while singing a sentimental …
“Ms. Perez?”“Airport?”“Yes ma’am. Here, let me help you with your luggage.” The bags were heavy and criss-crossed with streaks and tears; the zippers strained at the seams and the tiny wheels squeaked in protest as I dragged them across the driveway. As I huffed and puffed to heave them into the car’s trunk, I saw …
As I watched Alia sleep last night, her chest rising and falling rhythmically under a velvety red blanket, tiny hands curled around her face, and her mouth slightly open with a hint of drool dribbling down her cheek, I wished time would just stop. I took a couple of pictures and then a couple more, …