It's me!
Bhindi in Hindi or bhendi in Konkani is okra. We also call it lady finger but I really don’t like that name so I call it one of the first three I mentioned. Dahi is the word for yogurt or curds, as we say with ease. Tadka means tempering (of spices) and the versions of it are as myriad as the diaspora.
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Today December 2 is my father’s 70th birthday, a day he didn’t make it to. He always thought he would live till past 90 and I believe he would hadn’t he been a victim of circumstance.
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I have been making things for as long as I can remember. My creative journey didn’t begin or end at any specific point in my life. It has always been a huge part of everything I do. I am not exaggerating when I say that I can make almost ANYTHING I think of.
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When we were growing up, we spent a lot of our vacations right in our vast Goan “backyard”. We either went to hotels, used a family friend’s timeshare, went to the beach or to another family friend’s wilderness hut where 10-15 adults and kids slept in close quarters to the sound of rushing water from the stream behind the house. Sometimes, we went to shop in Bombay.
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I sprained my ankle at the beginning of June. I was hiking and the sandals I was wearing didn’t hold my left foot very comfortable. As a result of all that walking + weak hips, I twisted it just a little bit. It was enough for me to tear a ligament but not as badly as if I fell right on top of it. I managed to catch myself (thank you shoulders) and it was all good.
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I wanted to add some beauty into the world today so I compiled some photos I’ve taken in the last two months. Most of these plants are just a walk away but for some I had to literally stop and smell the roses.
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I factory reset my phone 2 weeks ago. It alerted me that it would stop working as a phone should if I didn’t. I made all the necessary saves and uploaded all the selfies I didn’t want to lose. I made sure my WhatsApp was backed up so I would never lose the few messages my dad sent me since I got this phone and he got WhatsApp. That’s all I cared about, really.
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I recently wrote a personal essay/review of Priya Krishna’s new book Indian-ish – a book she wrote with her amazing mother Ritu. The article made it to the Everett Herald, a local newspaper here in Boring land. Oh sorry, I meant Boeing.
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As I sit down at my desk to write you this note, it’s 11.21 AM here in the Pacific Northwest. The weather is mild for this time of the year, for summer and yet, the grass in the backyard is parched. From this brown and very dead meadow, hundreds and hundreds of dandelions (and creeping buttercups) are blooming as if to say, “beauty can come from anything”. Yes, they are a nuisance and a weed but ever since last year, they have become my friends. A metaphor for how fast life and seasons change. How everything – even when you cannot see it – holds beauty.
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My memory has gotten so much better and so much worse with time. I attribute the latter with how much I use my phone. When I’m on it, I cannot piece together parts of a conversation I just had. I can’t complete my sentences and I genuinely feel lost until I put it down and yes, forget about it.
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