20 years of tears

I flew home from a Boston writing conference this afternoon. The skies were cloudless and blue. Earth looked so serene from 33,000 feet up. In the world’s busiest airport, there was not a trace of the wars that are now history for the United States. No more soldiers returning home from bloody tours of duty; no more family reunions that would make the hardest and … Continue reading 20 years of tears

New year, new beginnings

Today, on the first day of 2023, I begin a new adventure. My full-time hire date at the University of Georgia was listed as January 1. I found that curious for all the obvious reasons. Few people actually work on New Year’s Day; even fewer when it falls on a Sunday. And most certainly, no one in the hallowed halls of academia. Still, I thought … Continue reading New year, new beginnings

Of anniversaries and the stories that really matter

On the 10th anniversary of the Iraq War, I called a man who lost his son in Baghdad for a story I was writing for CNN. Anniversaries of tragedies, he told me, were for people who did not suffer. What he meant is that every day is an anniversary for those who have lost loved ones. Not a day went by, he told me, that … Continue reading Of anniversaries and the stories that really matter

Losing my pillars of love

I have always been called the oldest among my cousins because the truly eldest of my generation were so much older than the rest of us, the sons of my eldest aunt, that they were not a part of our childhood gang. It was almost as though Gonuda and Manuda should have been our kakas and mamas, not dadas. Especially, Gonuda, who was only two … Continue reading Losing my pillars of love

The word ‘hero’ is overused but it’s truly fitting for John Lewis

I love driving by this mural that is not too far from my home in Atlanta.

When is the last time I cried over the death of a public figure or a politician? I can’t remember, really. Perhaps it was when Indira Gandhi was assassinated. I was young then and mourned the woman I had idolized in childhood. Beyond politics, she served as a role model for Indian girls of my generation.

Last night, I cried when I heard the news that John Lewis had lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. I grieved the death of a tireless fighter for freedom and justice. Continue reading “The word ‘hero’ is overused but it’s truly fitting for John Lewis”

It’s about time we retire the ‘R word’

In 2013, when I was a CNN Digital reporter, I spoke by phone with Suzan Harjo, a Cheyenne and Hodulgee Muscogee writer and activist whose lifelong mission has been to fight for Native American rights. Part of her work was to remove the use of native people as mascots for sporting teams. The Washington Redskins, she told me, was the worst offender of them all.

She couldn’t even bring herself to saying the name. The R-word, she said, was the same as the N-word.

Read the CNN story

Fans of the Washington football team have defended its name as an honorific; that somehow, the word, redskins, pays tribute to the native people of America. But the Native Americans I know say the term is offensive and the Merriam-Webster dictionary advises the word “should be avoided.” Harjo told me nothing could be more derogatory than the R word.

“The Washington team —  it’s the king of the mountain,” she said. “When this one goes, others will.” Continue reading “It’s about time we retire the ‘R word’”

The stories I will live by

My pandemic isolation began on March 12. At first, I welcomed the days spent alone at home. And though I felt stressed about having to suddenly pivot and shift my classes online, I relished not having to rush out of the house every morning. But as the days turned to weeks and then months, a strange sort of loneliness set in and I found it dangerously easy to slip into a morose mood.

Determined not to spiral downward, I began posting about the things that made me smile in this strange and trying time when the news seemed to get worse by the day. COVID-19 had killed more than 100,000 Americans. Millions were unemployed. Countless businesses shuttered, maybe forever. And then America exploded over police brutality against people of color. The Black Lives Matter movement that had been born years ago was again at the forefront of our collective consciousness. Continue reading “The stories I will live by”

Remembering Pishi: I’ve lost a role model, confidante and second mother

On the 24th day of my pandemic isolation, I learned my Pishi, my auntie, had died in her home in Kolkata. The news was not wholly unexpected – she had been ill and suffering for many months. But nonetheless, a dread bore down on me so hard that it made me wonder if I had contracted the virus. How would I ever go home to … Continue reading Remembering Pishi: I’ve lost a role model, confidante and second mother