Indian American

Am I on Crazy Pills? Wait – Don’t Answer. Just Read.

Proof that Bill O’Reilly Will Always be an Asshat

Ok, y’all. (Yes, I know I am an Indian girl from New Jersey, but I have lived in Virginia long enough to say y’all).

I have not said much about the election this year. I have gotten annoyed at Facebook friends that have also been acting like asshats trying to shove their political beliefs down my throat and talking ignorant shit about BOTH candidates.  I know, I know, let’s move FORWARD.

Ok, I will. I promise. Just give me a second to say something first.

Bill O’Reilly has said something to upset me.

What? Bill O’Reilly? Stop the effing presses. Are you kidding me? When has he ever said anything offensive before? I will give you this, next to Glenn Beck and Ann Coulter, he looks like Gandhi, but still.

Bill. Said. Something. Questionable.

Where I Come From

A few days after our son, Nico, was born, we had to rush him to the hospital with a fever. The long and the short of it is that we had to be admitted to the children’s ward for a few days because the spinal tap showed he was positive for Spinal Meningitis.

He was five pounds. And they were giving him a spinal tap.

Once I moved past the shock and horror and the tremors had abated long enough for me to calm down and think as clearly as I could over the course of the next five days, I did what I normally do in situations where I lose control and have to watch something hard transpire.

I shut down.


Kanchan Didi, Munni Didi and me.

I often have spoken about the influence my parents have had on my life.

What I tend not to share, as much, is my relationship with my siblings.

I am the youngest of five children in my family. In order, my siblings are named Kanchan (Sister), Himanshu (brother), Kusum (sister), Sudhanshu (brother – and yes my brothers names rhyme).

And then there is me.


I sometimes think I avoid writing about my siblings because on so many levels, the sibling relationship is often complex and full of ever changing dynamics. If you have a sibling, you know the powerful connections that bind you through a shared history.

A history that encompasses so, so much.

Each others dreams.

Seeing each other at our worst.

Seeing each other at our best.

The Heart of the Matter

My parents, brothers, sisters, with me and John at our wedding.

“And I thought of all the bad luck
And the troubles we’ve been through
And how I lost me and you lost you.”

- Don Henley, “The Heart of the Matter”

I always knew that things were not what they seemed in my house, even early as a child.

Ever since I can remember, I remember tension. I remember wanting my family to be anywhere else but at home together because when we were at home, that’s when bad things happened. The fighting, the yelling, the screaming and the endless tears made my heart beat so fast in my tiny chest that I thought I would burst.

I recall being 4 years old and begging for my parents to invite family or friends over, thinking that perhaps they could diffuse that tension. Sometimes it would work and the levity that family and friends would bring to the house would allow everyone to breathe.

Dip Your Toes in the Water

I remember going to the ocean as a kid and feeling like I was home. At that moment, it didn’t matter that I was an Indian kid growing up in America who never felt quite like I fit in. It didn’t matter that I was an American who would never quite fit in on the many trips I took to India – back to the country my parents had come from.

At the beach, the ocean seemed so much larger than anything running through my little head. Because even as a kid, my mind could not just sit the hell down. And I don’t mean that in a – oh I was always just thinking about so many great ideas, in my pursuit for intellectual nirvana.

I mean it in the way that I wasn’t sure where I belonged. Looking back I recognize it for what would be a lifelong journey with insecurity that many people struggle with.

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I'm Kiran, I'm a dreamer. A writer. A singer. A mother. An ugly crier. An Indian-American. Who loves Gandhi. My stories are full of truth that is sometimes hard for me to say out loud. This blog is where I overcome my fears and live (and love) out loud. Read More....




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