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.