October 05, 2012
An American
Every Diwali, I explain to my friends at school why I am so tired—garba it’s like dancing—pujas? I guess like praying— I explain in fragments because even we don’t know why we wash statues with milk, why worshipping God takes so many coats. I don’t ask, just sit beside my mother when she sings. My sister and I watch our father struggle to cross his legs; his laughter resting on his lifted knees. READ MORE >>
