Prose

1995 A day trip to Jalama Beach, by way of the flower fields. Today is the last day I will smell the purples and creamy whites, all the shades of red passing by the backseat window. There’s nothing in the sky to signal that this is my last time relishing the scent of a rainbow.... Continue reading→

Eighty kilometers outside Kolkata International airport, and your busy bee life is a vibrant static reflection on a lavender-rose, wrapped by the rental company’s ribbon. Your musing, a scrawl upon the fabric of a place. Next, between the faux-leather seat of the car where you’re strapped by seat-belts like an archaic harness, and the expansive... Continue reading→

“Bina! Come downstairs! They’re here!” My grandmother yells to me, frantically trying to fix the dupatta which keeps falling away from my face.  Could you be more Indian? I swat my grandmother’s hands away from my face. My grandfather stands in the corner of the foyer, leaning against the shoe closet, amused by my grandmother.... Continue reading→

On our summer vacation to Washington state, my mother pulls me back from Mount St. Helens with her gingham oven mitts. She is careful to protect her own hands when handling mine. On the long drive home, I practice speaking with my new gravelly voice that sounds like I’ve been drinking glass and bourbon or... Continue reading→

Nobody should be out this far without a car, Sam Ellisen thought. The sun beat down on the long stretch from Mesquite to North Las Vegas. Cars ran hot, and even newer cars with their fancy electronics had to turn up the heat to suck the hot air out of their engine. At least, that's... Continue reading→