I had planned to write up a post about my mother’s special stuffing, a hybrid of potato bhaaji and Stove-top in honor of Thankgiving. I planned to commemorate how thankful I am to be both Indian and American.
But, I feel exceedingly saddened by the news of the attacks in Mumbai; I have spent much of the evening watching Indian news online. While my family lives in the less posh parts of the city, I can’t help but picture my grandmother, intrepid as she most certainly is, seated alone in her apartment watching the news with the shutters drawn tight.
Bombay is a great microcosm of joy, dirt, people, sounds, smells and food. Movement is the only constant; this amazing city is New York on steroids. Muggy monsoon evenings, cluttered streets, delicious street food, the smell of jasmine, camels on the beach, the honk of rickshaws…I wish that I could weave these fond memories of the city into any clear narrative.
Sitting here focused on this siege, this breach of safety, this assault onto humanity, I can’t help but wonder if the street vendors will be able to make their meager income today. I can’t help but wonder if the poor who have no where else but the streets as their home will go if the violence continues and spreads. I can’t help but wonder when this sort of violence will end.
