The quiet back home

The silence within my walls is profound.  In India, there is quiet punctuated by the sounds of activity: the vendors, the motorcycles, the cook coming in, the incessant phone.   Here my silent cats sleep, and as there is a chill, my windows are shut.  The noise I hear is the fridge, mildly roaring.  I…

Recovering from a summer cold in india

Indira Ganesan, The Curtain, 2017 There is already an oxymoron in the title, for how can one get a cold in India? Yet, here I am, sniffling, sore throated, and tired. Luckily I am at my aunt and uncle’s, where I recover in an airy room, with a thick volume of Hercule Poirot stories nearby….

When I Was Seventeen, It Was A Very Good Year

Enrolled as a first year at Stella Maris College, when I was seventeen, I was a freshman abroad.  I studied in the Fine Arts department, which encompassed both art history and studio art.  We began with Mesopotamia and Assyrian, learning to diagram Buddhist stupas, and number Buddha’s attributes in sculpture ( a top-knot, elongated ears,…

Another circle, another fan

This time in my aunt’s house, in Chennai.  Can time be measured in circling ceiling fans, beating back the heat?  In the afternoons, perhaps, but mornings, papers rustle, the breeze cool.  It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been here last.  The family has gotten smaller, and grief leaks.  My father; my uncle.  Meals are served,…