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When I think of you, I am home
An Ode to Ammama (and Hyderabad)
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The Conversation
one phone call, unexpected. two faces, mama and dada. three questions, and i am thinking– where is the line between keeping myself whole and stringing out pieces to tie me to my parents? how much do these bindings hold us, how much will i pay for them, what is the cost? it all happens so quickly that when i look back, i remember only the little pebbles that got caught in my tight throat, triggering an earthquake in my voice. a slight tremor and it’s all do you know who you are yet? my father says he cannot look me in the eye, he says why are you getting defensive,…