No Fruit Dies So Vile And Offensive

We Think Of Immigration As A Western Issue But, Of Course, It Isn't.

The Present Changes The Past. Looking Back You Do Not Find What You Left Behind.

This Way Of Leaving Your Family For Work Had Condemned Them Over Several Generations To Have Their Hearts Always In Other Places, Their Minds Thinking About People Elsewhere; They Could Never Be In A Single Existence At One Time. How Wonderful It Was Going To Be To Have Things Otherwise.

All Day, The Colors Had Been Those Of Dusk, Mist Moving Like A Water Creature Across The Great Flanks Of Mountains Possessed Of Ocean Shadows And Depths.

When He Died, I Went About Like A Ragged Crow Telling Strangers, "my Father Died, My Father Died." My Indiscretion Embarrassed Me, But I Could Not Help It. Without My Father On His Delhi Rooftop, Why Was I Here? Without Him There, Why Should I Go Back? Without That Ache Between Us, What Was I Made Of?