RAYS OF SUNSHINE.

AMRITA SAIGAL  On my fifth birthday, we had only been in the United States for barely 2 and half months. Our big party for me was an undertaking, inviting all the Indian families in the apartment complex and friends of my father’s from work. There were only a few kids, and they were all a few years older than me, and palling around with my brother while I struggled to blow out my reigniting candles for the wishes, not for the act of wishing, not realizing my deepest desires were just about to come true. After my party, my parents packed me and my brother up in the car. We headed to the “nice” suburban part of town, where the apartment complexes turned into two-story colonials, and every tree hummed with the energy of summer birdsongs. We turned into the parking lot of one Ranjani Saigal, a classical Indian dance (Bharatanatyam) teacher recommended by one of the family’s new Amreekan friends. And though it started out as dance, the four within their Saigal clan have taught...

You know that first-day-clean-slate-feeling every new school year as a kid? That feeling that no matter what is going to happen, you will have your friends, you will have lunch to look forward to, and new teachers and new adventures to be had during recess. The familiar routine, revived and renewed. I feel that when I see this empty page on my screen. Waiting for my thoughts. Waiting for my meandering views on whatever comes my way. I can't really explain the calm that envelopes me as I first dip my fingers in, checking the temperature of the water before diving deep. Deep into the terrifying abyss that sometimes is my mind. It feels so good to want to write again. These past few months, I had been feeling the absence of sense. That apathy is more crippling than anything. Instead of every sensory feeling translated into swarths of words, like birds that yearn for release, they beat against me like a rock-- I was unwavering, unrelenting. Paralyzed. Suddenly, I felt passive rath...