tea and ceasefire

Pic: A proper afternoon tea at The Orangery in Kensington Palace. Our day of indulgence!

And a good day to revisit the wonder of how the world has only two words for tea: Tea if by Sea, Cha if by Land.

Back home in Michigan, the morels are up. I want to tell Summer to hold back until I get back.

Feeling a bit lighter as we're are halfway through our trip and the countdown to home is ON.

And when I called my mom for Mother's Day, I heard India and Pak have a ceasefire! I'm so relieved!!

"Facts Tell; Stories Sell"

I'm a bit of a ninny when it comes to navigating my way on the Tube and around London. I'm so thankful for the students who have the knack for it and help seamlessly. 

But today was one of our days to head to Oxford, and I know my way around that city SO well. We had our lecture in a seminar room at Pitt Rivers Museum, which a student aptly called "hodgepodge museum." I mean there are cases generically titled "the human form in art" stuffed with artifacts from disparate eras and areas. Our lecture was with the wonderful Will Allen who gave us the nugget that is today's post title. When advising people on immigration data, he said he always tries to give them a story to take away. 

I had to do a fair amount of in loco parentis-ing today and hope it was helpful. Later, I snoozed off on the bus to students good-naturedly arguing about video games and then dreamt about them. In my dream they were racing each other down the sidewalk and laughing hard and my father watching them from the other side of the street with me, asked me in the indulgent, tender way he has if these were my kids. I guess they are.

Pic: Our class on the steps of the Sheldonian Theater. It is the center of Oxford (and where my diploma ceremony took place!) but the building is important to our class for another reason. It is where Chimamanda Adichie's deservedly viral talk The Danger of a Single Story was recorded.

Multicultural Metropole

Our class went to Metropolitan University for a talk with Sunny Singh today. I had the same soft argument with Sunny as I've previously had with Big A. Sunny and Big A think Ta-Nehisi Coates is being lionized for "doing the bare minimum in speaking out against genocide" while I'm grateful that when so many continue to be silent, he's using his platform and risking his career. 

If I'm all cosmopolitanism this and kumbaya that, Sunny leads with a reckoning of "enslavement, colonialism, and genocide." She was dropping truth bombs and later I had to check in with students who were visibly upset and trembling. One of them said that it just hit them that their taxes would always fund genocides they didn't believe in. Devastating. 

Later a nice meander through Altab Ali Park, Bangladeshi Brick Lane, and Spitalfields Market to round off our morning of multicultural London. 

Pic: A bonus song at the end of Six, when the cast encouraged us to take pictures. It's a weird energy to check out a musical when you're homesick and worried about so many things in the world. But also, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself while stranded halfway across the world, doing my job like everything is normal. It's my mom's birthday and I had a nice chat with her--can't say it helped my homesickness or my worry. 

"Come What May, We're Here to Stay"

Afternoon lectures today at the University of London via colleagues River Baars and Lola Olufemi. River's lecture was about British Asian Youth Movements (AYMs), and as promised, they "seamlessly" integrated the supreme court decision about Palestine and the biological definition of woman into their lecture. Students were blown away by Lola's radical revisioning of time and multidirectionality. "I feel like my brain grew three sizes," I heard someone comment.

In our morning session we connected the cosmopolitan threads linking a bunch of stuff from Eddy Grant's dancehall hit "Electric Avenue" and the Brixton Uprising to Stokley Carmichael/Kwame Ture sparking the Black resistance in the UK. The cross-cultural solidarities amongst everyone "politically black" in the UK is particularly heartening with British Asian Youth Movements supporting everything from Black Lives Matter to the Bradford 12. Today's post title is one their lasting slogans. But I like the one they borrowed from The Children of Soweto too: Don't Mourn; Organize!" I know that'll play in my head the next time I'm worried about the world.

Pic: A mural at the top of our street with the words "No child should be a part of war. Ever." I expected to get homesick and sad next week, but I'm--inexplicably--already there. AND after I wrote that, I found out from a text DV sent me just now that India and Pakistan are at war. I called my family, and they tried to calm me by saying the south is usually safer. But also that they're having "mock drills" today to prepare. It all feels so surreal.

three moms and three mommy dilemmas

Yesterday, I joined EM, EM's mom, and EM's mom's best friend at dinner to celebrate EM's mom's birthday. I loved hearing all the stories about Baby EM as much her mom loved telling them. (And also, I loved telling Big A that she told me to tell him that he was a very lucky guy.)

Today, I had a long tea with JG and she got kind of bashful at the end of our visit and then offered me some of her mom's jewelry, because she's always said that her mom (who passed away thirty years ago and I never got to meet) would have loved me. From everything I hear, the feeling's mutual. I was nearly moved to tears by the honor and and have picked out two pieces that I will treasure.

And this evening, in unexpectedly terrific news, my mom called to say she might make it to Nu's graduation party!

The thing is... I've been keeping a secret from her that I should probably disclose to her before she gets here. The secret's not wholly mine, but it's my mom, so I'm going to have to step up. That's dilemma #1. 

Friday is At's birthday. I was planning to do family dinner with At and then hurry to a fancy dinner I RSVPed "yes" to because I was nominated for a CASA award. (This is what the fam encouraged me to do, and they were going to accompany me too.) From the detailed itinerary I was sent this afternoon, however, it looks like I did NOT win the award. Would I be a dick if I changed my RSVP now? This is dilemma #2.

And finally, I will be far away from my kids on Mother's Day as I'm scheduled to be in the U.K with my travel Spring Term. Should we celebrate long distance, or arrange a M.U.M. Day (Make Up Mother's Day) as we did last year?

Pic: I love dandelions. Lately, I've been torturing myself with thoughts about having let Scout play in a nearby park with no dandelions, which means the place may have been sprayed with toxic chemicals, which means he may have ingested some, which means that may have caused his tumor, which means Scout would be alive if I had been a bit smarter. 

Happy New Year!!

Yes, really! I said what I said.

It's Tamil New Year and Asian solar new year through much of the planet today. I am grateful for this reset, I am thankful for the pause. I heard from people I haven't heard in a while, I celebrated with family and friends, I made an Indian feast, I had a pooja.

Democracy is breaking down in the White House and various other things are breaking down in my house, but I'm reassured by Harvard University's resolve not to "surrender its independence or relinquish its constitutional rights" and even more heartened by the 80-something way less affluent colleges and universities that signed an amicus brief opposed to threats against people for lawful speech. Among these, I was charmed to see good old Antioch in Yellow Springs (always on the right side of history!) and other places I've adjuncted including The University of Dayton and Michigan State University.

Pic: I stopped at Lake Lansing Park for a short walk and a few minutes of meditation in the midst of the lapping water on this beautiful day.

don't let the one with the coconuts tell the story

Three traders set out, board the boat,
eager and dreaming of success

each with a sack of their wares
upright in the restless breeze
by their feet

it is a completely ordinary journey

their chat common, dealing 

in bargains and markets... 

until the storm bursts

until the boat floods 

Uppulu

Aiiyo! I've lost everything

weeps the trader whose sack was full of salt...

as all the salt slips away in rivulets 

of milky wetness beneath their feet

and the sack empties into nothing

Poppulu

Aiiyo! I've lost everything

weeps the trader whose sack was full of lentils...

though really, some lentils are soaked through

puffy as flowers ready for the pot this evening

but the rest may survive to sell after an airing

Koppulu 

Aiiyo! I've lost everything

weeps the trader whose sack was full of coconuts...

though the coconuts look fresh as children just bathed 

What? Say the others. No, you haven't lost anything!

Your coconuts look like they got a free wash. Shut up.

____________________
Note: From a story my ayah told me in Telugu to illustrate how the well-to-do love to complain about their misfortune even when it doesn't really compare or isn't really a misfortune. (I wonder now if there was something that prompted it--like if she'd had some argument with my parents who would have seemed well-to-do to her.) I came up with the retort to the coconut trader and the subheadings (salt, lentils, coconuts in Telugu) because they so neatly nearly rhyme. And I gender neutralized the characters without losing the plot.
______________________
Pic: The beautiful spring view from RS's window at book club today. There was more resistance talk and organizing than book discussion, which was ok with me. Especially since I'd read You Think It, I'll Say It literally years ago and forgotten many of its finer details.

family worries

Around my sister's birthday, she seemed to think her job was in jeopardy, and it turns out she was right. She spoke to H.R. yesterday and will be leaving the company at the end of the month (She is a Managing Director at Accenture). This will mean some upheaval for all of us since our parents are currently on her health insurance, but we'll have to figure it out. She's been looking for a lateral move for a couple of months, but feels her age is working against her. I'm very worried about all of this.

And I have a tiny worry about Nu. It feels silly to say it out loud, given the state of the world. But Nu  has worn the same seven shirts (washing them like clockwork every week) and Converses for at least three years now--everything is faded and falling apart. It's very environmentally responsible and it's waaaay better than being trendy just to add to the world's trash. But for some reason it makes me sad that my child is limiting themselves this way. When I've brought it up, Nu will rightly point out that they consume a lot of baked goods, CDs, books, and skincare products so they're not exactly an ascetic. 

Pic: Huck and Max went to the groomer and came back with spring-themed bandannas that say: "Finally Spring!" And it cheers me up just to look at it. Nu's disdain for the gender-themed blue and pink was also entertaining.

that it's only a doorway, that I'm only a door

So I go bravely before memory
pet my parents so gently
and secretly check 

that they breathe

the day begins or it does not
I can no longer joyride

on his shoulders or
straddle her hip

I fly them in on my thoughts
my rictus of yearning 

like a formal exit 

finding a soul

to write them everywhere 

like graffiti, follow

them everywhere 

like a ghost

______________

Note: There was a period in childhood where I was terrified my parents would die in their sleep. (They were perfectly healthy; everyone's parents in books were always dying though.) I would usually check their breath from the doorway of their bedroom. But my mom says she's woken up to me standing by her bed. (I might have died if I woke up to find someone staring down at me.)

____________________

Pic: Nu and I loved this puzzle we found at the bookstore, and we loved that someone had already put all the pieces together!

Oh, and Happy World Poetry Day!

trash turtles all the way down

I was worried about a dear friend who'd had open heart surgery last week. It made me feel a little better when I got to see their dear face while I dropped off some medication I'd picked up (they can't be alone, so I could either stay with them while their partner picked up the meds or pick up the meds while their partner stayed with them). 

I hadn't heard a peep out of my mom or sis for a whole day. So when the phone rang around 2 am, just as I was putting the puppies and the house to bed, I freaked the fuck out because I thought something was wrong with either my friend or my mom and dad. But no, it was just my mom calling to chat. I think she was a bit thrown off by DST too? Anyway. 

After that, I kept trying to read myself to sleep. Big A was at work, and then he texted to say he'd been attacked by a patient. That was it for sleep last night. I was so sad and worried for him and made him send me pictures and cried over all the scratches and bruises I could see.

And I got to hear the whole story today... I am sad for the patient suffering a psychotic episode in prison and then again in the hospital. I am sad for the security guard who gets paid minimum pay and is expected to put his life on the line--he got attacked first and Big A was trying to help him him when he got attacked too. There are no villains here. It's just awfulness all the way down. I'm just thankful there were no guns involved.
_______________________________
Pic: This made me laugh when I went thrifting this weekend because I needed new books for our Little Free Library (I got some awesome ones). I didn't get these books. They both have the same title--One Bite at a Time--it's just that they couldn't be more different in content: one is a book of recipes for cancer survivors and their caregivers and the other a collection of horror short stories!

a very short journey to Varanasi

when  the priest  says it's time to wed

the groom declares he must leave now

he will go on a pilgrimage to Varanasi 

where  he yearns to become a scholar 

the  bride's brother  hurries after  him

with an umbrella, a brass pot of water

come back, he pleads, marry my sister

he waves the umbrella over the groom

who  is already dressed for a wedding

he  carefully washes  the  groom's feet 

with turmeric water from the brass pot 

in which marigold and rose petals float 

to soften his pleas, his clear entreaties...

the groom eagerly agrees, then presents 

his brother-in-law-to-be with a gold ring 

the wedding carries on as it was meant to

_____________________________________

Note: In South Indian Hindu wedding ceremonies there is a part called the Kasi Yatra (Pilgrimage to Kasi-Varanasi) which is such a little piece of theater. The groom declares that he's decided to continue being a bachelor student-scholar and takes a little ceremonial walk pretending to take off to the scholarly city Varanasi while the bride's brother is despatched to beg him to return to the wedding. They say it is to mark the passage of the groom from the state of bachelorhood to that of a householder. But it seems like a lot of drama. Haha. The groom is expected to give his brother-in-law-to-be a precious ring to reward him. My uncle still wears the ring my father gave him.

like a drawing of myself

the body's shape is true 
its wisdom is intact 

my limbs chaste

perhaps not an immortal 

but never expendable

still a chosen one 

my frame rich and heavy 

as the best garden

vivid and fat

my self feels anonymous

wants to answer now

seeks surrender

______________________

Pic: My mom and sister sent me a photo of themselves playing holi with friends yesterday! It gave me joy just to look at it and made me me want to schedule a Holi date for later this month when things calm down a bit. I love how holi anonymizes everyone... you can barely tell who's who and can't tell their gender/age/class/color.

I can't get no (dis)satisfaction

Feeling a bit angsty today: 

So my very loving aunt and uncle who were worried about me live in India and are low-key amused by our President and prone to saying he's right about some things. I'm so sad-mad about this disconnect--the guy they like is the reason racism is on the rise and they have to be afraid for me! 

I'm glad I was able to get weekly events going for Women's History Month... I've always been happy to help with this, but it's not my job. There are people in charge of this kind of programming. Why aren't they doing it?

The next time I go on a walk by myself, I'm putting my phone on mute. Just saying. I'm sure my family can figure out whether someone is at the door by themselves and I don't need to know that the heat is out again or that the puppies made a mess until I get home. 

Bestie KB's dad died last night. He had been in decline and then was in hospice care, but somehow I thought they still had some more time. This is like what happened with Lisa's uncle (and KB is in MPLS too). I am so sad for KB plus this makes me fretful because my professor's dad died last week too, and it's making me anxious about my own aging dad. (Nu's passport is messed up because of the Trump administration and now I don't know if we're going to be able to visit my dad in India this summer... ugh)

Pic: Well... at least the skies are blue and the trees are greening again...

connecting

Last month Lisa introduced me to Jeanie, who lives and writes in my city and whom Lisa has known for twenty+ years. It has been lovely getting to know Jeanie online and then maddening to realize that we'd been at the same show of 9 to 5  but missed meeting each other and then a bit amusing to realize from a casual comment about a fundraiser for local transitional housing that our partners are in the same bicycling club. We do have concrete plans for a blogger meetup in April, but I suspect/hope we'll bump into each other before too long. 

As if all this online excitement wasn't enough, my week was sublimely elevated when I received J's lovely Mary Cassatt postcard in the mail. It took me back to when J visited the Cassatt exhibit as part of her birthday celebration in soft December sunshine in California. And as our Michigan temperatures climbed out of freezing this weekend, it felt like J's card was weaving a benevolent influence.

I was thinking of the ways we are all connected in millions of ways as I was coming home yesterday from visiting my sister's school friend, who is in some ways an intrinsic part of my sister's inner circle and community and hence mine on some level. 

I love all the stories we know about each other, all the ideas and hopes we get from each other, all the ways we know we are not alone in this world.

Pic: The spectacular sunset on my way home yesterday. Our world can be so beautiful. 

a love song / love cakes /surrounded by love

a love song

the hero in my heart feels right at home 

cheering for me, and asking to stay

I'm waiting...  for answers 

and searching for things I haven't lost

beloved, you whisper to me of love

how I can find it in myself 

__________________

I made Persian Love Cake last week from this recipe, and made it again this week with a few tweaks. I added pistachios and rose petals in the cake batter too, made a topping rather than a glaze, liberally increased the amount of sugar, rose water, and almond flour, used moulds rather than a pan, and so on to a point where it's now a different thing altogether.

I took a batch to with me to Troy when I went to visit my (actually my sister's) old school friend. I had to remind myself not to treat her like she was 15--she has an 18-year-old herself now. I took Big A's car in case I got lost because my car is all battery and I didn't want to be lost and without battery power. (And I did get lost once. Briefly.) I felt surrounded by love all day from Big A filling up his gas tank before he came home from work this morning to SQ sending me home with six boxes of food.

Pic: Love cakes cooling before being boxed up.

"It's all takin' and no givin'"

So I was a bit euphoric when I wrote yesterday's post. It feels good to solve a problem so easily. But I just know my parents would not approve of me making withdrawals from that account. I know they already gave it to me and it's mine to do whatever I wish with it and all that. But I feel bad. They'd be hurt about it. They would say they sacrificed a lot to give it to me. And yes, I guess they did sacrifice things like impromptu trips to Turkey when they were young to save it for me. I've also been feeling bad about Big A, who makes many times more than I do, but shares everything equally, and here I am spending a private stash I claimed was not for spending. But it's done. And I'm mostly glad I did it. 

Anyway.

Money is so weird. And I don't want to keep thinking about it and feeling anxious. 

But L took me to see 9 to 5 The Musical this evening and I had to continue to think about money some more. About 80% of the audience was women--as if the wage gap isn't an issue that ought to concern everyone. It was a terrific show and a lively and engaged audience. Bless Dolly Parton for making it all feel snappy and hummable at least.

"should I stay or should I go"

"Good Morning Akka," my baby sis texted me around 2:30 am... and then my mom got on the chat too and the three of us we were just... yakking for a while... (This is one of the many reasons my sleep patterns are so fucked.) And then, things got urgent. My mom who watches a lot of Turkish TV shows and has wanted to go to Turkey for a while and knows that Istanbul is huge on my list of places to visit because I'm a history nerd suggested we all go to Turkey together. She'd pay for my air ticket, she said. The three of us could share a suite. How about next week? We should go!

I asked Big A if I should go. (That's right, he usually works nights, so he was up reading beside me too; yet another reason my sleep is messed up.) He said to go for it. I have midterm break coming up next week and so I thought I could actually do it. But this morning, I looked at my calendar and realized that next week I'm in charge of the WGS sessions of the Michigan Academy conference and have board meetings, and am not completely off. Also, I was kind of looking forward to unwinding for a bit, and I'm a bit freaked out about planes falling out the sky. I'll probably stay.

I'm glad to see my mom is willing to spend that much money though. This was probably going to come from her "kum-kum money." (Kum-kum is sindoor/vermillion/the red powder Hindu women use in their hair as a marker of their married status.) Back in the day before middle-class Indian women worked, this was the money families gave their daughters when they got married so they wouldn't have to ask their husbands when they wanted to treat themselves to something. In Victorian novels, "Pin Money" seems to work this way? The amount varied according to the family. My grandmother's kum-kum money at her wedding was several mango orchards and required a manager and became the inheritance handed down to her own four daughters (including my mother). Unofficially, kum-kum money also worked as an emergency fund that could help women leave, if they decided they should go. 

Although Big A and I have everything in both our names, I still (and always will) have my kum-kum money in a separate account (I promised my parents this). And it's going to come in useful because just this morning, someone dear said they'd need help making their mortgage this month, and I know without consulting anyone that I am going to be able to be able to help. They'll be able to stay. 

Pic: Jumble of things on a shelf at work. I love that picture in the center with At reading to Nu so much... This was also around the time At had just discovered The Clash and loved belting out "Should I Stay or Should I go" as a punchline to everything.

steps to space

I am five and a "flower girl."

In the nativity play. 

(It must be one of the roles they give out when the real parts are gone quipped someone recently.

It's probably true.)

I have a new dress with flowers on it. I have flowers in my hair. I am so excited. 

My mother wants to know if she can help me rehearse "my steps." She means my choreography/step-by-step moves on stage. 

I have no idea what she means. 

(I have nothing to do in the play. I merely stand in a line with the other bit players and throw a flower or two out of my basket.)

It becomes a small "thing." 

Do you know your steps? she keeps asking. 

I have no idea how to respond.

I have a brainwave and tell her that I can't say them but I can draw it for her. 

She's confused. But ok. 

We find some paper and crayons.

I proudly draw her a series of descending interconnected "Ls" to make a picture of stairs...  they begin and end in emptiness.

*

At is nearly five. This child is my life.

It is summer, my favorite time of the year. 

At is an easy, happy child. We've spent hours cuddled up,  painting, reading, exploring in the community garden...

In this moment, At's health status terrifies me. "Failure to Thrive" a medical resident said with a smile once. (I know they were smiling because they'd solved the mystery diagnosis and not because my child might not live, still...) "Failure to Thrive" makes mealtimes and food intake strenuous and stressful. 

It is summer, my favorite time of the year. 

It is summer and At has no school.

I am in grad school. I am newly widowed. I have spent the day parenting alone. 

I owe my advisor a dissertation chapter, I owe a colleague a book review, I owe the IRS what seems a lot of money.

It's finally 7 pm and I put At to bed. After reading and singing and talking (At has always LOVED to talk), it's 8 pm and I'm getting ready to slip out of At's tiny bed. 

"Stay!" At says. Hopeful eyes, cheeky smile.

And I (will forever regret that I) said the tired thing in my head. "I have to go, Kanna... I need to make some space for me." 

"Wait-wait!" the lonely child says--tiny, triumphant hands eagerly sweeping up books and stuffies to make room, "I'll make more space for you!"  

____________________________

Pic: Rainbow-tunnel-carwash. Stuck there, it seemed both grim and hopeful at the same time. 

seeing red until

Red Note: I tried the new place all the kids are decamping to in the wake of the potential TikTok ban--just to check it out. It was kinda confusing.

Red Book: Someone said: "Did you know that RedNote actually translates into "Little Red Book" as in Mao's Little Red Book?" That does not faze me. The Little Red Book has its moments. It's not like it's something written by Kim Jong Un. C'mon. I kept thinking about that person's outrage all day, and it was a bit funny.

Red Card: An international student wondered if we should be giving other international students "red cards." At first I thought it was something to do with the Lunar new year, but it was actually about how to prepare yourself for immigration raids. I was by turns sad and angry about this one. 

Red Envelopes: At the end of the day, dinner was with EM, whom I haven't seen in weeks and it was lovely to catch up. And of course she gave my grownass kids red envelopes with money in it for new year luck. Neither A's only sibling nor mine live near by so I'm glad and grateful for all the people who treat our kids as their niblings. 

Pic: Red envelopes for Nu and At today. Happy New Year of the Snake!

"life is never just one thing"

I didn't see Big A at all today. He'd worked an overnight in Ann Arbor and I left for work an hour before dawn to make it to an 8 am meeting. By the time I got home after a late evening at work, he'd already left for work again. 

But to quote Connie Schultz, "Life is never just one thing;" other than that, it was a lovely day. 

We inducted new members to the English honorary and it's always such a delight to see students dressed up for the occasion and meet their families. I mean... you think you see your students grow in the classroom and love their work and the people they are and then you meet their families and it's a whole new level of understanding how much they're cherished, seeing the wonder their grownups have about these humans they have made in one way or another. It's kind of transcendent. 

Also, somehow I was going to place an order with the catering company and then decided to do it myself and found myself after classes at MacCurdy (the feminist house I advise) borrowing their oven to heat up trays of hors d'oeuvres. And also, I have the best colleagues... ok, the best women colleagues--who seamlessly did everything from setup to clear-up. The whole evening was busy and bright and social and fun--all the stuff I adore. 

And then when I came home I was so tired I couldn't even bear the sound of the loud TV show Nu (who had no school today and has no school tomorrow because of our frigid temps) had on. I just wanted to sit with my arms around my babies for while. Then Nu went to bed, I FaceTimed my sister for her birthday (it's already her birthday in India!), and then snuggled up to read with Max and Huck.

Pic: This treat of lovely words and signature shortbread was waiting for me after my first class today. I did work hard today, but this wasn't about that. It's from a lovely and private colleague in another department and says way more about their wonderfulness than anything it might imply about me.