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Holding Sand

 My mother once gave me the sound advice to avoid holding tightly onto things (she was specifically talking about people at the time) because if you do, they have a habit of slipping away. She did this through a marvelous metaphor that went like this: If you have sand in your hand and make a fist, the sand begins to fall out and you are left with less sand than you started with. If you gently cup you hand and let the sand come in however, it remains in your hand, and you can perhaps even add more. This metaphor has stuck with me because it helped me with the problem that I was having back then. But I’ve come back to it again and again and slowly been realizing the smaller and more subtle ways that I grab onto things. These things are now always visible or tangible, but they still have important implications. Take meditation. I meditate every day. It’s like brushing my teeth, I simply can’t skip this part of my day. But unlike brushing my teeth, which is a methodical and easy task
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Bagel perfection

Two weeks ago, my husband and I tried making bagels. This wasn't because of some sudden ambition on our part or a particular fondness for baking (though I do like baking if it involves dessert and he is our designated bread maker). It came out of necessity because he has been missing the bagels in NYC that we bought from the local grocery store whenever he visited. We would eat them for breakfast lathered with cream cheese and veggies. They are however, apparently not a thing in Finland so our only option was to make them ourselves. Bagels, in case you don't know are notoriously difficult to make. I knew this. He brushed my doubts aside and said happily "Let's try." Bagels take a day and a half to make. You make the dough, let it rise, shape them, and then let it prove for 12-24 hours before boiling and then baking them. We didn't have some of the ingredients, starting with the right kind of flour. My husband said it didn't matter and powered through. Aft
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Rituals of connection, reflections of celebration

I started this blog with the intention of writing about Finland for the benefit of everyone back home. For the first year, this goal made sense, there was plenty to learn about Finland and plenty of experiences as I explored the new country I was temporarily in. Now though I am back here but with a very different mindset because this time, it's not just an adventure but about creating a space and a community for myself. This has changed quite a bit how I look at Finland. It also has changed how I see this blog. For the past two years I wasn't quite sure what to do with it but now I have a purpose. My work has shifted to thinking about immigrant families. I've been immersed in theory on immigrant identities, practices, memories, culture. The articles I have been reading have been from the perspective of parents, teachers and children or from non-human perspectives like policies, depictions in the media or the language used to talk about immigrants. So when I moved to Finland
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The Monkey Mug

We have these mugs in our house that have Japanese-anime-style whales on them. Their smiles are wide and innocent, the shade of blue in which they swim is pleasant, not the sad kind that makes you cry inside. Years ago, my parents decided they wanted more of these mugs but the store they bought them in no longer stocked them. So we went online and discovered that there were yellow monkey mugs, and pink rabbit mugs too, a whole world of cute animal mugs that kept their chai hot long enough for them to slowly drink it each morning while they read the paper and ate khakra. So they ordered the monkey mugs. My mother only had my dad order 6 of them. Each mug is $12 so this felt like a splurge. The monkey’s joined the whales in the shelf, breaking up the sea of blue with their gentle yellow. She now regrets that decision. These mugs were already a Prized Possession then for their superiority to other mugs. But they are more valuable now because we can no longer find
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The Mahabharata

Picture announcing the revival of the Ramyana and Mahabharata (bottom) When India suddenly announced a lock down for three weeks in March, it was a big deal. The entire country was now stuck inside with limited means of entertaining themselves. The TV networks took this as an opportunity to revive some favorites, specifically, two Indian serials from the 1980s that had held the nation enthralled while they were running. Both of these were based on Hindu epics, The Ramayana and The Mahabharata.  My family has also been watching the Mahabharata as a nightly ritual. This is quite a commitment since the serial has over 90 episodes that are each 45 minutes. Arjun listens to Lord Krishna tell the Bhagwad Gita But this is a commitment that I think we all hold onto eagerly (though my father admitted one evening that he as other shows that he wants to watch and so would be happy to take a break from it for an evening. He was overruled). This is because the Mahabharata, specifica
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Songs of Stillness

Two weeks ago it felt like the world was ending. The numbers from New York, which captured me with their stunning speed and the realization that I had left just before the situation became so much worse, grew rapidly each day. It began to dawn on the US that this was going to change everything. The grocery stores were filled with empty shelves. Empty shelves could only indicate that the world was ending. Until I heard the birds singing . I was on a run in a park when I heard them. They jolted me out of a reverie thinking about the headlines. Pandemic, economy, toilet paper. I looked around at the space around me in the park. The prairie grass expanded around me even in its dormant winter state. I saw the sky, blue with flecks of white clouds drifting above me. Nature is still in business. Even though the news is dire and the world we humans have built seems to be falling apart at the seams, buds are appearing in the trees. I see birds now on the roof through my childhood bedroo
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Heart of the City

The past week in New York was jarring to say the least. Though the city still makes me overwhelmed by even the smallest of tasks (where do you go to buy a pack of cards??), I have begun to slowly get used to the constant movement of the city and everything that comes with it. The sound of airplanes flying constantly from La Guardia over my apartment doesn't register any more. I can estimate how crowded the train will be based on what time I am leaving my apartment in the morning or TC in the evening. And although the feeling of always needing to do more still raises the specter of anxiety to make everything I do feel inadequate, I've become resigned to its presence to the point that it is part and parcel of the city itself. Solitude is rare in the city, but last week it was the norm All of these things fell apart this week though, one by one, as another phantom seeped into our lives. Starting with an email from our college president that optimistically called off only no
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