I finally publish

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

With love from Milan

English is common only in India.

Brown means familiarity. Sri Lankans, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis and some Desis have all asked me if I come from their own country. A flicker of almost hope that I soon extinguish.


Pictures that form in some minds are colorful. Oh so colorful!

Tigers? Yes, in zoos.

Snake charmers? I don’t believe this. I thought we had helped erase such pictures! But yes… I haven’t seen many. Maybe one.

Rajahs? The ‘h’ in the word exists am sure. Dead or no longer living as one.

The first act of kindness was being given a potted Poinsettia by the woman at the cafeteria. And then there were none.

I opened a jar of mom’s pickles. Brushing aside few tears that didn’t seem to understand they were uninvited, I called her. Long distance.

She was of course asleep. I wake her up to talk about how cold it is here. People, place and thing... like a nice Pronoun. Abiding by rules of Colderdom.

She knows everything. So she knows that I have more.

We wait in silence. Then all of a sudden words rush. They have a long way to go…maybe that’s why.

I opened your pickle. I miss you so much… they taste wonderful mom. As always Mom…

She is silent when she shouldn’t have been.

I bought them.

For sale: Mom’s Recipe Mango pickle.