For those who know me, the rant I go off on about being "displaced" is not a new one. I went through a period of putting down roots in this great and free land and somehow these past few years, those tentative spreads to "settling down" seem to have badly failed. So now I am in the "when can I return" phase of the life of an immigrant. Into this equation is a new variable: D-Poo. She's of course an ABCD (American born confused desi for those of my audience who STILL don't know it)who says: "schooal" and "yennai," has never been to a temple and has no concept of eating "kaamam" at all. Has never had dosai/idli for breakfast and wouldn't miss it. But somehow I want her to. I have long held dear the claim to myself and all and sundry that a new land when adopted has to be in all its glory: dating for all and meat in the lunchroom even for Tam-brahms and white boys to marry. I have freely mocked the old fuddy-duddies
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