In a Baltimore hotel, we crouch on the floor,the thin space between two pitch-white queen beds. Mehendi stains a brownish red,I take care to touch nothing but skin. It occurs to me that this will be the first weddingI go to in America. How different this would be in the other land. There, at nine …
The women’s line snakeslike a weed, the men’s line a stub.Amma & I mutiny, jumpship. We are used to going where we do not belong.All we want is to make an offering,but we are asked to leave this queue. It has always been like this,the priest says, his incensed mundubunching around his waist. And I …