I Am An American, Not An Asian-american.

The Picture Of Mother Teresa That I Remember From My Childhood Is Of A Short, Sari-wearing Woman Scurrying Down A Red Gravel Path Between Manicured Lawns. She Would Have In Tow One Or Two Slower-footed, Sari-clad Young Indian Nuns. We Thought Her A Freak. Probably Wed Picked Up On Unvoiced Opinions Of Our Loreto Nuns.

One Of The Early Tip-offs To Me About The Enormous Changes That Were Going On With Being In A Bangalore House, Home, Where The Young Woman From A Nearby Village, Who Had Been Hired To Baby Sit Newborn Twins, Suddenly Said After Two Weeks Of Work: 'i'm Sorry, This Is Too Much Work, I'm Going To Try Applying For Call Center Jobs. The Pay Is Better.'

I Have To Put Down Roots Where I Decide To Stay. It Wasn't Enough For Me To Be An Expatriate Indian In Canada. If I Can't Feel That I Can Make Social, Political And Emotional Commitments To A Place, I Have To Find Another Place.

I Am A Naturalized U.s. Citizen, Which Means That, Unlike Native-born Citizens, I Had To Prove To The U.s. Government That I Merited Citizenship.

Growing Up In An Old-fashioned Bengali Hindu Family And Going To A Convent School Run By Stern Irish Nuns, I Was Brought Up To Revere Rules. Without Rules, There Was Only Anarchy.