Welcome to my virtual home!

i wanted to type out something while awaiting the Citibank Rep who's avoiding me these days (i may not be the easiest customer with whom he works). i've been thinking a lot about the emotional highs & lows that humans experience, based upon their outward experiences. For example, I leave for India after four weeks in North America and I have the "post-US blues." Or money's tight, work's slow in coming, and the world feels like it's crumbling. the interesting part is that faith pulls (or drags) us through these experiences but it seems that God fights for us in those moments. i surely didn't feel like a fighter, sobbing while checking FB updates in the middle of the night while missing the folks i'd just left in the US. but somehow God pulled me out of the literal night and into a new day. i write this because it's important to recognize that you are not the only one who feels like this sometimes. i've felt this and most peopl

Poppi to me: Do you know any posses in India? Me to Poppi : Hmm , we don't really have those in India. Poppi : Really, no posses? Me: No, no posses . . . oh, oh, Parsis . No, I don't know any Parsis in India but I know there are many there. We went to visit Grandma Supple during the annual family reunion. When we arrived at the old folk's home, Grandma was telling the nurses about some terrible tragedy. We wheeled her into a sitting room and offered to sing her favorite song. We collapsed in hysterics as we sang, "White Christmas." That was her favorite song last time Aunt Amy visited. This time, Grandma was worried about missing the movies and said, "I'm not trying to be rude but I really need to get going," as she tried to rise from her wheelchair. We opted to wheel her down the hall to the "movies," aka the community room playing a movie conveniently set in the 1950's. Then Grandma wanted to pay for her movie ticket and bega

I returned to Delhi after a month's absence and was saddened to not see the little old lady that used to sit on her terrace, head covered, reading through her prayers in the morning sun. She religiously sat there every morning from 7:30 to 9:00 AM. She had a dedicated folding chair that she sat in as her hair dried after her morning bath. Following a time of peaceful rest, she would cover her head with a white cloth and read her book. Perhaps they weren't prayers. Perhaps I imagined that. She wasn't on the balcony when I returned. A few days later, her folding chair was removed. Life at the home across the alley seems to go on, from all outward appearances. Clothes still dry on the lines, the house helper takes a moment to lean over the balcony railing and sip her tea as she gazes down the alley below. I want to know what happened. Maybe they sent her to another relatives home for the cold winter months. Maybe she was too frail to travel and she is no more.