Latest Articles
Keeper of Harmony
Keeper of harmony Women are like creepers; my mother tells me-- or ought to be. Creepers braid themselves around trees-- no dissonance, only harmony. But I want to be the tree, [...]
Calendared Intention
Calendared Intention My mother calls me every morning and recites the panchangam = the Hindu calendar, beginning with the year, which shows, perhaps, her long view of life and belief in, [...]
in these eyes lie ancient secrets
in these ears lie ancient secrets (a riff on the film Roja) she tickles my ear with a golden brush i wake from my nap with a primal sound shakes [...]
Crows and ancestors
Crows and ancestors A crow, dead? Hung from an Indian elm tree, splayed like black shorts on a fickle clothesline, except this was a glass-coatedmanjha kite-string used to cut off of the [...]
The price of tomatoes
The price of tomatoes the other day, Ma told me that she regretted not climbing Mt. Kailash seven decades ago then she asked for the price of tomatoes piled high on our [...]
Meteorite
Meteorite if I could, I would be a quiet meteorite on an echoless path sinking through shards of French press coffee hidden, brown, safe. Instead, I retreat underground, hold my breath, as [...]
a rakish yogi plays water polo
a rakish yogi plays water polo below Santa Cruz pier sea lions arch in barking ardor he stands knee-deep in water lobs a cloth package at me like working women everywhere, I [...]
From the mustache, a moon cloud
From the mustache, a moon cloud On the wide waves of a moustache appears a question — a blinking pearl inside a conch shell WHAT will it take? WHEN will it stop? [...]
The turtle widow
The turtle widow A widow, desolate, floated down a bored river, knocked on the door of a turtle holding up the earth and asked, why…. how…. did my husband’s soul escape…forsake…renounce…abandon me? [...]
Travel Stories (my favourite type of writing)
Old favourites that I wrote for Condenast Traveler (US edition)
For Condenast Traveler US on National parks
Bangalore is home. I didn't always live here—until two years ago I lived in New York. But now this is the city where my kids go to school, where I hail auto rickshaws for bone-rattling yet perversely exciting rides to work and meetings, where I prowl pubs and malls in search of stories and sales, and where I go to Namdharis Fresh supermarket to buy organic grapes, too-hard bagels, and much-too-soft cream cheese in an attempt to replicate the Sunday morning brunches at my Upper West Side apartment.