Youth

Pickling Mangoes

Pickling Mangoes

I haven’t been to India in almost exactly a decade as of April, 2014. The hazy aspects of India have blended together in a warm, humid stew in my mind—the relentless sun, the powerful monsoons; the incessant honking of the rickshaws’ shrill horns into the small hours...
A New Bollywood Love Story

A New Bollywood Love Story

“Kunal, you better marry someone Indian.” I can hear the words of my Mumbai-born parents echoing in my ears over and over again. I’m not sure how serious this wish of theirs is, because I know they wouldn’t mind if I were to date someone not of Indian descent, but I...
A Cookbook of Memories

A Cookbook of Memories

In December 2013, my mother wrote an editorial on the recipe book given to her by her father. Her words made me think of my connection to the book and to her father. It was at the time that I was applying to colleges and I wrote an essay on the subject as part of my...
Standing on the Bridge

Standing on the Bridge

It’s a topic that’s been visited in countless movies and books, but the fact remains that growing up as a second generation Indian American in America is not easy. Especially, if you’re growing up in an orthodox household where your parents are trying to instill in...
When Men Hold Hands

When Men Hold Hands

I was in sixth grade, summer vacation, and we were driving along a dirt road off some major city in Kerala. The white ambassador soldiered on through the pothole-infested road, as the ten of us cramped inside bounced up and down every five seconds. My mother said...
A Yen For The Arts

A Yen For The Arts

When I was a child, my parents often told me I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. They would be proud whether I was a clown or doctor, so long as I tried my best and enjoyed what I did. With these assurances, I was not in the least bit uneasy when it...