Four Clover Life- By Namrata Shailendra Singh

...and Phew!!! It ended. The gaiety, the merriment, a giggle here and a guffaw there, warm hugs, 'Hi, how are you?', chit chats, joshing and the color ‘RED’ tinted the OC sky with empressement of togetherness and Indian-ness at the  Orange County Indians holiday meet today. Dear Santa, Thank you! You see, a better vocabulary other than this is hard to find, so I will stick to the ordinary yet the sincerest and impacting. Thank you for this community that every Indian woman and her family has found here and is an integral part of. Every flight that lands in Orange county carry that one Indian family who becomes our valuable member.  It's fun to have a  group that constitutes of such variety- the 6:00am 'Good Morning' senders, the 10:30pm 'shayaras,’ the questers in search of information ranging from plumbing to calculus tutor, and the responders who never fail to impress. We are the ultimate Google for each other. Sundar Pichai, are

I wonder if Indians smooch? They do? Really? Have they always smooched or it is some new found sexual angle? Oh, forget it! How does it matter? With our population, nothing matters. I had an idea about smooching back in school- the year 1996. You know how Chinese whisper works. When it came to ‘smooching’ what came to me was something to do with the tongue and esophagus. The implementation happened 15 years later in the most unsophisticated, an ‘atrangi’ and unhygienic way. For a middle-class Indian who is raised with the mantra- ‘ jootha nahi khate ’, smooching = sin. Unsanitary sin. Forget it! I am not a fan of a smooch. But what if my kid is? The thing is that the biological clock and the academic clock are in direct conflict when you enter your teens or hit puberty. Just when the world is putting the right kind of pressure on you to go to Stanford, your mind is solving calculus equations, your body is doing its own weird calculation...size? Inches? Bang

I got invited to a birthday party. The time read 7:00pm, 10 th  November 2017. Notorious for being on time, I thought to caution them well in advance…. you see, just in case they are in the shower when I arrive. ;) Dear Host, “Thank you for the invitation. Dhruv is turning five, and we would love to be part of the celebrations. I thought it would be good to let you know that I will come at 7:00 pm as stated on the invitation card. Maybe five minutes before. Kindly put that Tandoori chicken (which would be marinating) in the oven. Move your butt and dress your child. It is not great to see the birthday boy running around naked, swinging his underwear. Try to set up the place and yourself, because I am going to be on time. Do not for a moment think that I am anywhere close to Indiangiri or the Indian standard time. You see, if you want me to come at 7:30 pm, please write it so. I cannot assume by some magical power that you wrote 7:00 pm and meant 8. See you guys soon. I love tandoori ch

Dear Love, You started your menstruation today. I know it is painful and difficult for you today, but I trust you will adjust well. I am there for you. I am glad you chose me to be your friend on this journey. I am not surprised that you knew about menstruation. It's just that knowing the right thing is essential so that you are not misinformed about all kinds of bodily changes you will observe in the near future. At a personal level, I am happy to see you and your body grow. It's a healthy sign. It's a nice feeling to see you bloom into a youthful girl brimming with enthusiasm and life. Remember, nothing changes in your life, though. You play and run, you eat and have fun the way you have been doing.  Maintain good hygiene habits and change your sanitary pad when needed. If you want to wear a white dress, go ahead. You may encounter an instance or two where you may find that you have stained your skirt or your legging. That's just an accident, and I

A mom of an elementary school student asks me over a discussion- 'So, just how do you teach poetry?' Me- ' Ummm, teach? ' Mom- 'Yes, you write poetry, but how do you teach poetry to elementary school students?' Me-  'Ummmm...I don't think poetry can be taught; poetry is lived.' You see, they say poetry is  born to an overactive right hemisphere, To me, poetry is born in moments... fragile and fugacious. Moments when the pain and despair, magically give rise to hope and strength, when shattered pieces of trust and promise, bleed and brave together, That very moment, poetry is born. Moments when your eyes swallow two tiny rivers, And fake a smile which says it none, A silent scream which pierces the ears, A deafening silence which nails the soul, Poetry belongs to these very voices. To engage with the glitterati, with your  fake branded attire, The lipstick you picked up from somebody's bag,