Ginger + Garlic

Knowing I have two jars in the fridge plus the curry powder mom made in the coffee grinder = two nights of easy curry anytime I want...


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Shiva

You've hired this happiness

for the flowering day

it waits patiently

multitudinous

diegetic

I'll never forget how you felt
green leaves rust-edged
their first voyages
whispers
sighs

As if you invented a beauty,
in a curl of misfortune
its willing trident
striking flint
delicious


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Baby A wants to know:

a) Are there *ANY* kids in India?

(b) What are their names?

(Four-year-olds are thorough!)

Back

Fair, hostile sky
grumble of wind

music wakes up,

miscommunicates

an umbrella of rain
splinters of silence

In the cramped cage
of childhood

My mothers already
see everything

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One minute of rant; one moment of funny

So... not a good couple of days. I think I may need more help than sympathetic ears and on-tap multi-generational snuggles. Can't really talk about it because (a) I already growled at my parents when they insisted that I tell them (b) mostly I don't know.

I do have a very strong feeling that my squeaky vocal delivery and my default-setting smiles are interfering with everyone's ability to take my weltschmerzen seriously. That and the suspicion that everyone has fallen for my protestations: Really, you guys! Really! Cooking and cleaning up after and chauffeuring and entertaining a family of six while prepping and teaching and grading three courses (90 students; at least twenty seem to e-mail me every day) is nothing. Really, it's easy!

The teaching and a houseful of family IS fun and I'm sincere about being grateful to be able to do it. Then also, feels like there is something I could/should do to care for myself--but I don't know what. Therapy? A drug regimen? More than six hours of sleep? Not caring if the house looks ready for the photo team from Architectural Digest every fucking minute? That the kids get assigned and balanced calories at every meal? What?

________________________________________

We're listening to the radio stories about 9/11 with tight throats and goosebumps. Amma breaks the spell with an earnest warning that none of us should go downtown today. Our downtown =  < 3500 people. Any terrorist coming for us would have to be lost. Or a total underachiever.

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That's Hot

It was hot today. Really hot. A hundred times hot. So hot that when one of Li'L A's cross country teammates demurred about running with his shirt off because he was too fat, he was told, "Dude, it's too hot for bad self esteem today." (HeHe, Gulp, and Sad Face all at once.)

Nevertheless Baby A's first day of nursery school followed by a potluck at her sweetly hippy-dippy institution of early learning. After I got home from work, I wore a sari and Baby A wore a scarf draped as a "half sari" over her trousers. (I wore my favorite Rosie the Riveter button as a sari brooch.)

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Things Can Only Get Better

Dad's birthday. Woke up at 5 to wrap presents before final class prep. And then begged two kids and an adult with increasing desperation and superhuman amounts of groveling to sign his card from 6:45 to 7:50.

Was away all day on campus and then too late and tired to stop anywhere to get a birthday cake. (Lazy!!) Did a drive through Tim Hortons for 40 donut holes that the kids and I stacked into a pretty impressive "cake tower," parked a tealight on top, and had a festive birthday party anyway.

Happy Birthday, Daddy :). (You're the first feminist I ever met.)

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I'm Special. So Special.

Because I can never remember the tunes to the silly songs I make up for kids, I have designated special songs for the kids borrowed (I'm a creative GENIUS!!) from the movies. My sister pointed out that they're both sad songs when situated narratively, but they soothe my kids, make them feel special (along with three other generations of Hindi-speaking kids).

Baby A has Chanda Hey Tu, Mera Sooraj Hey Tu, Li'l A has Nanhi Kali Sone Chali .  Last night as I told them what the words meant again, Li'l A growled with discontent:

Yeah. She (Baby A) is your sun and your moon, plus all the stars. And what am I? A flower. A little one. Nice."

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The Teacher

Sleep, Arjuna
the lines of your palm
cast shadows;
children dream of you.

War is indefensible
is honorable war
and riddled plain
on Kurukshetra

Human. You are.
suffer undisciplined
dilemma. Speak, Arjuna
in this hairy garment of skin

divine animal
O individual
rebirth .  act .
the practical

hold the world,
old and fluted
warrior (for yet
another minute)

[fragment]
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What She Said (1)

(inspired by the Kuruntokai)

Crossed, she is cross
lovers' arms are tigers
they race forest fires

they say, companions:
her community of accomplices
girlfriends, girl-friends, girls, friends

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