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Greetings from "war-ravaged" Portland!

Where all is somewhat calm and hella bright! At least for the next half hour or so when the sun begins to set. Last night, I went out for Karaoke. Karaoke nights are more sporadic now and I do not stay for the entire time. I always say two songs

Zehni ghulāmi se kāsh hoN hum āzād*

I had not given too much thought to this over the years, but as I read more about "decolonizing the mind," I've been thinking a bit about my family, immediate and extended. I've been thinking about my beloved Nānā (maternal grandfather), who, based on

Zālim

I haven't written a post here in a long while, and there's a reason for that. When I'm experiencing high anxiety, I find it difficult to coalesce thoughts together. Or if I do, it's in short notes, like on Substack. I'

Re-membering

I will begin with memory this time. It was Lahore. December, 1971. In the bubble that I lived, which consisted of one of the Christian hospitals in the city, residences for doctors, the nursing school and its adjoining hostel, and various apartments for employees, there was a wee bit of

Whither humanity

This afternoon, after returning from church, I read something that shook me to my core. It was angry. It was, I'll name it, hateful. It generalized. It did all the things that had I written it and turned it in to my Writing 121 instructor way back when,

And now, from a voice in the wilderness . . .

Sometimes, when I want to write, but have no bloody clue what to write about, these lyrics from the Simon and Garfunkel song Kathy's Song come to mind. My mind's distracted and diffused My thoughts are many miles away . . . Even when I have a more or

"We had church today!"

The title of this post are the words a retired priest, and longtime parishioner of our small but mighty church, says at the end of every Sunday Eucharist. And sometimes when we are missing her presence, I'll say them. At the end of a Sunday, a year or

Living in this temporal world

A wee bit of housekeeping: I've decided to export my posts here, back to Substack, which I'm still using until they choose or are compelled to sell out as well. I will continue to use Ghost though, at least until my subscription runs out. I believe

Of joy and pain, and Gibran.

Last night, I wrote a little blurb, which I'm going to edit a wee bit I will not let fascism and white supremacy take away my joy. But I will also not let anyone tell me to mute my pain. And remember, “joy and pain. are like sunshine

Believers and the misunderstood

Prelude: What constitutes the "main" section was posted earlier today in my Substack "Notes." Last week, an op-ed writer for the Wall Street Journal wrote an opinion with this headline Now, this is the same op-ed writer who shared this with his readers this past February:

Rallying round the red, black, white, and green. *

I missed the Pride Parade today. I had not planned on missing it. As a matter of fact, I had planned on missing most of church to go to the parade. I have been rather anxious in crowds though, lately. I have no regrets about missing the parade though. The

On colonization and partitions

I have been thinking about British colonization a lot, as the Genocide in Gaza continues, unabated. And I've been thinking about it both in terms of how land acquisition and the "forced" movement of people took place both in the Indian "subcontinent" and in

Between the construct created by men, and what is inherited from the land

Zohran Mamdani was born in Uganda. He was born to a father who was born in India and raised in Uganda and a mother who was born and raised in India. He is African by birth and Asian by heritage. I haven’t read the NYT article regarding what he

The day before the 250th birthday

Confession time: I had a drink today. For those of you who do not know, I quit drinking almost 14 months ago. Cold turkey. One morning I woke up, and something happened that made me decide: it is time. I cannot do this anymore. And I didn't. Except

The big ugly mess

This week: The bloody ugly bill passed in the Senate. The House will most likely pass it as well. The anxiety, rage, and sadness as a result of this will continue for many of us. A Texas senator decided to rage at Zohran Mamdani for eating rice (it was big

Daughters and Fathers

One weekend, many years ago, Benji had come to Portland with one of his colleagues and his wife. They were in town for a conference. I got to see him for a bit one evening, then the following evening, we were all going to have dinner together at an Indian

From there to here

Some of this may be repetitious for those of you who have followed me or subscribed to my Substack. If so, please feel free to skip it. . . . . . It is difficult for me in these times not to think of 1977. More than a bit of what happened that year is

Heavy days, heavy nights

I don't know where to begin. I haven't felt like getting out of bed for the past couple of days. They weigh heavy - the days. Or maybe it's me that's heavy. I was glad to have gotten out of bed on

The "obligatory" Father's Day post

Today is Father's Day. The third Sunday in June is not as rough for me as Mother's Day still is. The transition out of the earthly realm for Mum still feels close and raw at three years, while Benji's (our father) was seven years

A world that is destined to die

At the end of every week, I'd tell one of my co-workers, "Do something that brings you joy!" It didn't matter that I may not have wished that for myself. I can find joy in the little things. Having moments of joy does not