2020 Through My Eyes

I’m sure many of us have a lot to say about this year. Hopefully, I can offer a glimpse of what my year has been like. Perhaps, as you read this article, you can see 2020 through the eyes of me, Manushree.

We had been promised great fortune and a great future for this year. The beginning of a new decade, what else to expect? I’d like to write using each month in increments of time. Most school-age children were dreading the return back to school and the routine and hectic schedule of high school. I was halfway through my freshman year, but I was dreading something else; my re-auditioning. January has never been academically eventful, however, I’d always be caught up with dance practices for our Pongal Festival and preparations for my birthday. On January 27,  I turned 15 years old. This was the day after the Pongal function, so I never had the chance to think about myself until the day came. I was at that weird age, where birthday parties seemed childish, so I had a simple celebration. It was on a Monday, so my family went out to dinner that night. I have to admit, it’s one of the best birthdays I’ve had. But, birthdays only last 24 hours, so my special day came and went. It was time to focus on the matter at hand; my re-audition.

February came and I believe this is when I became fascinated with the news of a new virus, somewhere in the world. I remember thinking to myself, what if this virus becomes a pandemic, and the world as we know it, becomes chaotic? You can imagine how I feel about that one thought now. But, I had other things to worry about. Would I start my sophomore year in a major that I truly loved, or would I remain in Instrumental Music, as the last chair, and learning a major I truly didn’t have interest in?

My audition came and went. It was on the same day as my friend’s Sweet 16, so I was able to relax, after. I was getting ready for mid-term testing and my Science Olympiad tournament when my life changed. A student in one of my classes had passed away. They were in my French class, and on one of our French Food days, I remember her light and airy voice thanking me, as I handed her a Sprite. She referred to many underclassmen as “Sweetie” or “Sweetheart”. She was very kind and caring. I was heartbroken when I heard she was in the hospital. She passed away about a week later, and I looked over to her seat in our classroom, which was now empty. Though I hadn’t known her personally, I was shattered when I learned of her passing. It took some time to set in; I had learned the news right after winning medals at my Science Olympiad Tournament. I had another friend’s birthday party, right after, and I was contemplating going, but I did not want to disappoint. I broke down in the car ride there. They were different tears because I had never grieved for anyone, before. I’m a very fortunate person, who had never had to face death in my friends or family, but I had my first brush with death in February. I was shocked that a student in my classroom was no longer there after a few days. Her body went to organ donation, and I was disturbed that she was no longer whole. She was no longer a person on this earth and she would never see the future or the past. You see, I’d always believed that death is imminent. We are granted different lifespans because I’ve always believed that fate is written. The Universe had always known that she would pass away at 17. Too young, in my opinion, but I cannot grapple with the complexities of life and fate in one article.

March came by, and we began hearing of the virus trickling into the U.S, and different areas and countries went on lockdown. By the first week, many schools had closed, and we were waiting for when ours would be next. Exciting things were approaching, I was going to perform in my last band concert, and I had an opportunity to perform Dr. Seuss plays to local elementary schools. I thought all these events and excitement would mask the morbidity and fear in the world around us.

They were all canceled. I was devastated. I remember eating lunch with my friends, on our school’s front steps, and we stared out into the mist that had settled over the trees. I imagined tiny deadly viruses hovering in that mist. Would life ever be the same? The day after was my last day of in-person school. Who knew when I would return? It was Friday, March 13th. They told us that we would be taking two weeks online. Two weeks became one month. One month became the end of the school year.
April and May went by with online school. It was tolling and grueling.  I had to stare at a computer screen for hours each day, but my home life had disrupted me every now and then, like little bubbles of reality. I had always been close with my family but being homebound had really changed me. I decided to take up journaling, so I wrote in my journal, every single day. It took a lot of willpower to write consecutively as nothing eventful ever happened. I spent my summer break on my sofa, writing pages and pages filled with illegible handwriting or hiding in my room, away from the mountain of chores I had waiting for me after school.

A day after my sister’s 13th birthday, a tornado left our community in shambles, and we had lost power for a week. This time had really shown me who people are. How, despite the pandemic, people can help you, or how they won’t.

June and July blended into one and we began making short trips outside. Masks on at all times, hands always in our pockets, and hand-sanitizer became my second basic need, right after food and drink. Only one event happened that was truly worth writing about; I cut my hair. This is very important to me because it symbolizes a new beginning, a new life. I had always had very long hair for most of my life and because it was so long, I always had it in one style: a braid. I rarely ever put it down. Because though it would look nice, it would always become a tangly mess. But, I was sworn to keep it intact. You see, it had become a sacred thing to my relatives in India, but it was always a burden for me. I wasn’t allowed to express myself and I fed into that stereotype: Indians are uptight, they keep their hair in one style, and work so hard that they have no room left to enjoy life. My mother wanted me to cut my hair because it was getting difficult to manage, but I wanted to because I would finally get my first sense of autonomy. Almost every aspect of my life was controlled by something else, but when I cut my hair, I felt free. I felt as if chains that weighed me down, had left my body, and I could finally express myself. It was a decision I had made.

My only connection to the outside world was social media, and I believe that’s why I became so engrossed in it. I began jogging outside, for the sole reason, that I needed a sense of independence. This didn’t last very long and I was back home on my couch, with copious amounts of screen time and junk food.

I began my sophomore year as a Creative Writing major. I was pursuing art that I had really loved and could spend hours doing. Online school has its ups and downs; I can attend my classes in my pajamas, but I cannot interact like I used to. The “mute” button became my best friend. I hadn’t seen any of my friends in so long, because my family life had overwhelmed me. I spent every waking hour with these people, and even though they drove me crazy sometimes, they still were my family. So, yes, I had to get used to my dad yelling into his phone, and my mom’s noisy TV shows, and my baby sister’s incessant begging for the phone so she could play games. Each day in October went by with my excitement for Halloween. It was the only thing I was looking forward to.  In November, two exciting things happened. Class Officer elections were coming up, and I had decided to run. There were only three candidates in my grade, and I was the only online learner. I’m still shocked that I became class president. I guess it told me that if you really work hard for something, no matter the circumstances, you just may achieve your goal.
In November, I started my own small business. I was at the age where many of my friends were working, but I couldn’t work in a public location, for fear of my safety. Jewelry making was always a hobby of mine, so when I announced my small business, I was overwhelmed with the amount of support I received. It was the only thing that truly kept me happy during our time at home. I had gotten this adrenaline rush from getting orders and packaging them and I was overjoyed to read comments and feedback on my products. Of course, my small business was on my mind 24/7, but I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it. I had a job of my own, with flexible hours and I was entirely self-employed. It was another sense of autonomy if you will. I was glad to be earning for the welfare of myself and my family.

It was a few days after Thanksgiving that my entire world came crashing down. I had learned that my mother had tested positive for COVID-19. It was surreal. We self-quarantined and it had been so long since I hugged my mother. She was always a big portion of my life, and to be deprived of that was upsetting. Many weeks went by, and my mom ate at different times than us. We ate Rasam (soup and rice) almost every single day, and food was mostly managed by my dad and me. We basically inhaled turmeric and herbs. I am thankful to be sitting next to my mother. She is resilient and she beat COVID-19. My entire family made it through, and I truly hope next year isn’t like this.

2020 allowed me to learn who people really were, and what their priorities were. We were tested down to our primary instinct; human survival. No matter who we had to reject, no matter how we had to live, we needed to survive. I learned that human beings are selfish, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s how we’re built because when all is said and done, the only thing that really matters is our beating hearts and our functioning brains. Death was quite literally knocking on our doors. It was up to us to let Him in or not. I think the only two things that kept us going were the advice from world-renowned scientists, and our faith and hope that things would get better. I’ve been asked what my New Year’s resolution is, and this year, I don’t really have any. I’m thankful for everything and I’m hoping that we have proved our worth to the Universe. Yes, it hurled this ground-breaking pandemic at us, but we managed to stride through, naming quite a few martyrs on the way. All I can hope for is that 2021 is a year filled with healing and promise for a bright future. We’ll just have to see what the Universe has in store for us.


- Manushree Navaneethakrishnan

Ode to my Mother

When you lost your own mother
I know it must have felt bad
Losing this protector that was there for you for so long

I hope you see her in me
And if she was here today, I know she’d be proud of you
And maybe, those many years that she stood over you were worth it.

I want you to know that you’ve been a wonderful mother
When I go to college, I’ll miss your smirk when you hand me a cup of sickeningly sweet coffee
I’ll miss your weary face that manages to smile even through the toughest of times
I love it when you yell at me for draining your phone’s battery
I love it when you arrive at my school ceremonies, dressed in something nice, and clutching your oversized handbag awkwardly

Mother, you and I are so alike. We’ve faced so much we’ve traversed through innumerable obstacles.

Now, I’ve grown taller than you, and you must be so scared for my future.
But since you’re by my side, I’ll be okay
And when you no longer are, I’ll manage with the memory of your face, forever etched in my mind.

I couldn’t have asked for more
The least I could do
Is be a mother just like you…


- Manushree Navaneethakrishnan

I Miss That Now

 I Miss That Now
I no longer remember
How the tiny raindrops fell against my arm
The uncomfortable sticky, wet  feeling
I miss that now
I no longer remember
how it felt to burn my skin in the sunlight
That exhausting, blinding feeling.
I miss that now
I no longer remember
How it felt to walk through crowds
Listening in on conversations
Sharing stolen glances
with every stranger I pass
I miss that now
I miss being out there in the world
I miss the feeling of being together
The world went by so fast
We never stopped to think for a moment.
We were so spoiled
But the funny thing is....

"I DON'T MISS THAT"

“A Flash of White Fur”

I’m staring at the ceiling, contemplating whether or not to get up from the bed. My sisters are nowhere in sight. I hear their distant laughs and screams from the living room. My mother is speaking to someone on the landline: a daily ritual she practiced every few hours or so.  I should probably get up before the avalanche of screams and shouts decide what to do for themselves. My feet shuffle onto the carpet of the living room and I look up, my eyes still adjusting to the harsh yellowish tinge of our new light bulbs. There is a poorly wrapped light-blue package sitting on our small coffee table. I walk closer and examine it, only to see the letters “Happy Birthday” plastered on every inch of the gift wrap. My mind searches for answers. Whose birthday is it? It was a month that had no proximity to any of our birthdays. My mom walks in, still on the phone and she pauses when she sees me. My sisters scurry in, eager to see what this early morning surprise is. They stare at my mother, whose warm gaze is almost inviting me to open the gift. I don’t get any answers to my questions. What’s the worst that could happen? Maybe it’s a homemade packet of math work to enjoy (my mom seems highly capable of this)! Maybe it’s a bomb: That seems unlikely. Still, I ponder about the package. You know that feeling, when you’re so excited about something, that you don’t want to go through with it? Well, this was the exact feeling I had. My mom urged me to open the package and I sat on our old carpet, knees on the floor, and laid my hands on the gift. It was mostly air. I poked at it like it was this weird, airy, gift-wrap bubble. By now, my family members were getting impatient. I took a deep breath and began to rip the paper. My eyes caught a flash of white, almost blinding. I closed the package, and I knew exactly what it was. The thing I had been searching for all these months, what kept me sleepless for many nights, was right here in front of my tired (and confused) eyes. I’ve finally found you.

I’ll stop killing you with the suspense. Close your eyes, and imagine a bustling mall hallway, with stalls full of miscellaneous junk. Place my young father, my mother in her chic 90s clothes, and little me, all rosy-cheeked and almost suffocated from the layers of clothing I sport.  Such was a day in my one-year-old life. We had recently moved from India and it was the first time we went shopping in America. This was during the time in my life where I found everything as a “discovery”. My parents definitely spoilt me back then. I had never verbally asked for anything in my life, but things were about to change that day. I sat in my tacky stroller, probably drinking from a sippy cup full of whatever my parents managed to put in there to get me asleep. We were just passing another stall when my tiny eyes caught a flash of white fur, among the other toys. Let me just say, it’s a genius idea to place all the toys in plain sight so random children's tears become your immediate profit. I cried (the perfect way to get your parents’ attention) and commanded my parental servants to take me to the stall we just passed. A Middle-Eastern man greeted my father (I’m guessing he had a smile, thinking about all the loot he would get from this family), and displayed all the toys, all for my excited eyes to take in. I watched as he rearranged the toys, eventually settling on a small, scraggly white dog with black polka dots. Aha, I had found my precious! My dad placed the stuffed animal in my tiny, awaiting arms, and they watched as I played with the toy. I guess that’s when my parents knew that this was the one. The dog cost thirteen dollars, which was definitely overpriced if you ask me, had you seen the thing. We brought our newfound “Pet" home and named it “Puppy”. Yes, I know, very creative, on my parents’ part (I had later tried changing its name to “Cupcake” in the third grade, but that didn’t work out). So, Puppy was my only companion for a while, until my parents decided to have another child. Soon, all the attention on Puppy shifted to my chubby baby sister, Nawina.

Before we knew it, our family-of-four moved to Tennessee from California and it was just the four of us for a long time: Five very long years... Then suddenly, my youngest sister, Sarithra, came out of nowhere! Now, we had quite a big family, and my poor son-wanting father had to accept the fact that he would have to raise three girls. Our house was always noisy, but my lucky father got to escape every three months to India, for work. We were messy children: cleaning was a daily struggle. One good thing that came out of cleaning our upstairs room was when I saw a flash of white fur. I pulled out this small stuffed puppy from under all our toys and marveled at the scraggly dog. What is this? I learned, soon enough, that this was the very first toy I had asked for, and I took it EVERYWHERE with me when I was little. Soon, Puppy became my best friend, and my toddler years came back, with me lugging the dog wherever I went. Eventually, I would learn a very important lesson about carrying the toy everywhere.

It was a sunny Saturday, and I was very excited. My friend was having her birthday party at the park and I was invited! I spent the entire morning, grooming myself, and pairing my rainbow leopard-print dress with the gaudiest earrings I could find. I knew they would be the talk of the party! And to top it all off, I popped Puppy into the small fabric bag I was carrying. At this point, I started worrying that I would steal attention from the birthday girl.  I was right. As soon as I showed up, all the girls started gushing at my bag with Puppy. At this moment, I would like to apologize to Puppy, for using you as our football that day. The party ended at around 8 and we waved goodbye to all our friends. We settled ourselves in the living room, and I took out my bag, to admire it once more. Something was missing. The sinking realization in me set as I looked for someone to blame. Puppy was missing! I knew I left her at the park, so I pestered (more like “forced”)  my mom to call her friends. Finally, the birthday girl’s mom made something of the “white dog” talk. She said that she had seen Puppy left under the benches in the Pavillion when she was cleaning up, but she wasn’t sure if it belonged to any of us, so she didn’t pick it up.

I could no longer feel the airflow to my lungs. My skin had turned cold as if the blood stopped flowing. My rainbow leopard-print dress and shiny earrings didn’t mean anything anymore. I was nothing without my Puppy. Crying yourself to sleep doesn’t just appear in the movies. Sure, when anyone looks at it now, this was a silly matter. I just had to move on. Well, I tried. For two very long weeks. I remember staring at the wall one day and feeling my lip quiver, as tears rushed out of my eyes. Never have I ever been so sad in my life. Puppy started to become a thing of the past. Until that Sunday morning when my mother gifted her to me in a poorly-wrapped “Happy Birthday” package.

My mom was just as devastated as I was. I did not know this, but she had told my father (he was in India at the time) about my situation and he advised her to go to the park again. My dad is a terrifying guy but it shocked me that he was more upset about the situation than I was. He told her that she would definitely find Puppy. She had arrived early the next day and was questioning all the custodians if they had seen Puppy. A park ranger had told my mother that all the trash from the previous day would be in the dumpster. My beloved Puppy was now among the garbage produced from this park. My determined mother (an amazing woman, now that I think about it) went to the large dumpster and started digging through all the trash. Planting her well-manicured fingers into the sea of garbage, my mother dug until she found the small, scraggly dog, all covered in soot and dirt. She told me that Puppy was at the bottom of the dumpster, looking up at her sadly, sprawled on all-fours. She brought it home and washed away the scent of abandonment from its soft white fur. My mother waited to give it to me, and when she did, I felt as if the world had started spinning again. A hundred weights lifted from my tiny shoulders at that moment. Now, whenever I look at Puppy, I remember the journey that it has taken me through. She reappears in my life every so often.

Puppy sits atop my bunk bed now. I know, it is just a toy. But, Puppy is like a living, breathing soul to me. I’ve contemplated it more than once: When I die, does Puppy die with me? Or when I grow old, will I pass it on to my daughter or grandchild, to let Puppy live on? I find it extraordinary, that this scraggly, white dog will live longer than me.

We, as humans, are obsessed with one idea: What will we leave for this world? In a way, by letting Puppy live on, I have left my mark.

"Bottomless Sky"

Trees frame your edge
your eyes, A deep blue void
I can’t quite place the color
but oddly
you comfort me.
mesmerize me
how many stared at you before they died?
how many stared at you as they awoke?
how many were killed by the fatal blasts
nurtured from your womb?
how many more will you take?
Yet I am curious
it’s ok if you kill me
right at this moment

I’d die
staring at the bottomless sky !

Home

“You’re such a disgrace to this family!”
I should be taken aback by her words, but instead, they don’t sting as much as I expect them to. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I told her that it was her choice to have me. I stare at her curly hair, the scarlet ringlets bouncing as she shakes, her head cradled in her hands. I should probably leave before she starts crying. Too late. There are small spots where the fabric turns darker on her blue scrubs. Told myself so many times that I should run away. Escape this hell that is my life. Once, I even packed a bag. But I never did get around to leaving her to toil here.

If I slam the door to my room she’ll come running up the stairs, and I’ll have to face another hour of lecturing. I close the door, making sure to create as little noise as possible. My room is a pigsty. Books everywhere. If I peeled each piece of clothing off of the little mountain that’s formed in the corner, I could probably reveal everything I’ve worn since last week. I topple onto my bed and look at the dusty picture frame propped up neatly on my nightstand. It’s five-year-old me sitting on a man’s lap, my mother standing next to us, dressed in a vibrant floral gown. I look at the man. He sports a neat comb-over and striking eyes. This is supposedly my father. He’s never come to any of my performances or said Happy Birthday to me, but this man is my dad. I look at my mother. She’s so young in love. Little did she know that her love life wrecked this child of hers. I look out my window. One lonely street lamp among a dark blue sky. It lights up the grass around it in a yellowish hue. The outside seems so welcoming now.

Before I can think, my hands start rummaging through drawers, exploring their contents, and stuffing clothes into a small drawstring bag. I throw in all sorts of things without looking. Deodorant, toothbrush, a sad tube of toothpaste, some rubber bands, and a few granola bars. My mother shouldn’t call me downstairs for another thirty minutes, so I look around my room. Clothes everywhere. The bookshelf is tilted, almost. Before I leave, I may as well tidy up in here. It should give at least a little joy to my mother. My odd twisted way of lightening the mood, perhaps. I pick up my clothes and this trance overwhelms me. I can almost imagine my mom opening the door to see her daughter, sitting on the floor, folding clothes. After I fold everything, I organize my bookshelf, leaving a piece of notebook paper and a blue pen out on the shelf. I glance at all the books on the shelf. Mostly picture books and chapter books. The occasional young-adult novel. My mom bought me these back when she still loved me. I glance at my phone. 8:23 pm. Mom will call me down to dinner or something in a few minutes. I write until I fill the page, a few tears falling onto the paper, creating an inky mess. As I come to a close, my pen lingers on the paper. This may be the last time I see my mom. I end the letter with Love and Forever Will, Your Daughter. 

I want my mother to forget me. I want her to start anew, maybe get a husband, and have a kid she actually loves. All my life I’ve only been a burden to her. This decision is in no way going to hurt my mom. I think she realizes that this was going to happen someday. I’ve made it 15 years, and that’s enough. Of course, I’m going to miss her, but if I love her, this is what I have to do. I open my window and throw the bag down onto the lawn. Thank God I didn’t pack anything fragile.

“Rache, dinner!”
8:30 pm. Right on cue. I kiss my room goodbye, making sure to linger on the photo frame. Mom doesn’t even look at me when I come to the table. There’s a paper plate with a ladle full of cold pasta. I don’t even need to look at it, to tell that it’s obviously bland. I watch my mother as she stares at her phone, subconsciously taking bites of pasta and then retracting with disgust. And then taking a bite again. I take a bite of my own and silently agree with my mom. What is this bitter aftertaste? It may be my last full meal so I stuff up anyway. After I finish, I throw away my plate in the trash. I look up at the fridge, a billion little magnets and knick-knacks hanging from it. One of them is a magnet I’d made for my mom on Mother’s Day in second grade. It’s a tiny picture of toothless me holding up a sign that says Love you, Mom! I look over at my mother. She’s still absorbed in her phone. I wish that she would come here and hug me. I wish she would stop me from leaving. I look at her closer. All those years of complaining and lament. The negligence. The abandon. I look at a set of magnets. They’re alphabet ones that spell out S-M-I-L-E. Mom used to spell out one positive word every day. I look at her again, but this time I smile. I smile so big that it hurts. Not as much as it hurts me inside. I scream at her in my head, “Mama, look at me! I’m smiling! You told me to, and so I did, Mama, I smiled! Mama, won’t you smile too?” At this point, I’m crying, fighting with myself for having second doubts. How could I feel so far away from her?

Talk to her, you idiot! Tell her what she deserves. I wipe my tears and turn towards her, taking a step.
Forgive her. Everyone makes mistakes. Let her know that it’s okay. I glance at the time. 9:06 pm.
 “Mom.”
She doesn’t even take her eyes off her phone.
“Mhm.”
I look at her.
“I love you.”
She scrunches up her face, illuminated by the white screen on her phone.
“What?”

She obviously didn’t hear me. I shuffle to the living room and sit on our couch, the plastic cover squeaking with my every move. There are no photos on the wall. There’s no cheesy saying painted on the door or inspirational wall art. Just gray, dull, paint. Beige sofa still wrapped in cellophane. An empty living room. If I leave now, she won’t notice until tomorrow morning. I look at my home one more time, the gray color oddly comforting me, and I  step outside into the world.

I grab the bag and stare at my Mom. She’s still on her phone. If she looks, up she can probably see me clearly, holding this bag, and making a decision that’s too big for me to make. Am I Insane? I shouldn’t have to think this hard. My feet take me down the road until I’m at our neighborhood’s entrance. There are two ways to go. One will take me to the park. The other will take me to the convenience store. I could get food there. I make a right and start walking. 

It’s scary, walking alone. I expect a clown or bear to come attack me from behind. Maybe I’ll get kidnapped by some man cruising in his car. Nevertheless, I keep walking. The familiar hue of streetlights starts flooding in and I feel a bit safer. My shoulders relax as I spot a park bench. This isn’t just any old bench. This was the bench that Mom and I used to sit in, every time we came to the park. I can almost feel the presence of younger me licking an ice cream cone in this very exact spot.  Or when I would tell Mom about school on days we couldn’t get ice cream. This park bench seems like it would be somewhat comfortable. I may as well spend one last night with my memories before I forget them altogether.

My eyes adjust to the lighter sky as I wake up. Surprisingly, I actually slept. The bench seems cushiony, however. There’s a little pressure around my shoulder area and I look up to see a hand there. Veiny, fragile, and wrinkly. A few rings, including a small painted one. I gave Mom this ring in kindergarten. My eyes trace up to her arm and stop at her wet, blue scrubs. Her red ringlets have lost their bounce. I watch her tired face and the way she peacefully snoozes against the streetlight. And that’s when I tell her.

“I forgive you.”
I know she probably didn’t hear me, so I slump onto her shoulder and try to sleep again. I feel her hand slide over my shoulder. It feels like I’m six again, my tired mother cradling me. I hear the faintest whisper.

“Rachel, I’m sorry for being such a negligent mother. All I can do is hope that you truly forgive me and that we can start over. “

I snuggle in closer with her. Turns out she still loves me. I  Do Forgive You.

“Yes, Mom. That would be nice.” The birds start chirping as the sun starts rising over the hills. It’s freezing outside, but oddly I feel right at home. At about 4 in the morning, mom and I decide to take the walk back home. We don’t talk to each other at all but it feels nice. My arm in hers as we listen to the birds sing and the early morning traffic. When we reach home, it’s a new kind of place. The gray wallpaper is now lit with a warm orange tone, not even really gray anymore. I walk into the kitchen as mom sets her keys down, and something catches my eye. The fridge looks the same but one thing is different. It stands inconspicuously among the other miscellaneous objects. The magnets now spell out S-O-R-R-Y.      

“Yellow Rice”

In all my years of being Indian, I have encountered too many colors of rice. None as delicious and unique as lemon rice.

First of all, lemon rice’s color is too unique to keep secret. Its vibrant yellow color will have the kids at your lunch table wondering what on earth is she eating?!  Too few souls are ready to venture out to taste this vibrant, foreign beauty.

It was a food I grew up with. One of my earliest memories was when our roof guy, Rick, tried a bowl. He was fixing something in our home, so my parents invited him in for tea, coffee, whatever his little heart desired... (This is typical for Indian parents (hospitality seems far more important than the love for their children.) My mom served him a steaming cup of sweet Indian coffee. I remember my father, asking in his heavy accent, “Would you like to try some Indian food.” This American had never gone beyond the realms of the five tastes: sweet, salty, bitter, sour, spicy; In India, it’s six ( one of them too complicated to explain.) He wanted a taste of our homecooked meals, so he accepted.  I don’t know what he was expecting, perhaps the sweet, rich flavor you get from Paneer Butter Masala or the tangy, crunchiness from Aloo Tikki. I wanted my 7-year-old self to tell him, my friend, those are the flavors of North India.  This taste would be hard to forget. My mother gave him a bowl full of the vibrant rice and he dug his plastic spoon into the rice (it immediately stained yellow from the turmeric) and took a bite. I watched as his eyes slowly turned red and beads of sweat formed on his wrinkled forehead... He gasped for water, and my sister and I, both young, and acquired to the taste, couldn’t help laughing, as my confused father brought it out to him.

I guess we never noticed how spicy it was. Maybe this is why we find hot sauce and sriracha sweet, and add it to everything.

Lemon rice made the most common appearance in my lunch box. I could bet you I would find my bread-shaped container filled to the brim with that vibrant yellow, and I would probably be right. I couldn’t tell you how many times I would make heads turn just by opening my lunchbox. But as always with unique things, my classmates’ reactions weren’t always positive.  I dealt with a lot of bullying because of the food I brought for lunch, so I asked my mother to pack me the bland, tasteless sandwiches that I saw everyone else bring to lunch. After a week of opening my lunchbox to see the same old soggy PB&J sandwich, I begged my mother to bring back the masalas, the complexities, that I so enjoyed eating. I learned to live with the teasing, and some even asked to try the foods I brought to school. Today, I don’t have a problem with opening my lunchbox and the aromas that arise from it.

My dad hates fast food. This usually results in my mother making food for “snacks-on-the-go”, when we go on vacation, or long road trips. No food is as portable or filling as lemon rice. There is a different feeling when you watch the trees pass by, and you munch on the plate of lemon rice nestled in your lap, with a plastic spoon, maybe a fried potato or two in between bites.  The joyful laughs of my mother and the scolding of my father telling my baby sister to finish her food often pair well with these moments.

Things have been different now, with the virus, and everything. Being isolated has been… different. I’ve definitely spent too much time with my family. We sit down for a late lunch at 3 every day and are unveiled to what I helped my mother make for lunch. Today it was lemon rice. Let me tell you, I was surprised to see the familiar pan of yellow vibrancy.  And to pair it off, a bowl of my mom’s famous fried potatoes (nowhere near in color or taste such as the french fries you get in fast food). It was weird to eat this food while being stationary. Where were the trees? The paper plate, the plastic spoons? Nevertheless,  I closed my eyes and savored the taste my brain had been searching for all these years. It had been so long. Too long. If nostalgia had a flavor, then this would be it. The spicy potatoes with the tangy rice floated me back to my childhood. The feeling of the crunch of the peanuts in the rice was too extraordinary to put down in words. Lunch was over too soon. When will I taste the bright yellow, the tangy sour, of this aromatic rice again?

Many things have significant value in life. None as powerful as food.

- Manushree Navneethakrishnan

A Winter Night

I can feel my cheek tingling
As I press it against the frosted window
A blanket of snow covering my backyard
Tall, naked trees erupting from it.
The grass is silver, like delicate jewels against a white backdrop
The distant sound of chimes in the air
Fills my ear with unwelcome sounds.
Here I am, wrapped in my wool blanket
A steaming cup of cocoa cradled in my hands
It hurts to think of the poor souls who are out there in the cold
Freezing to death
Funny how I smile
At this hostile wonderland.....

That Window

There she goes again
Looking out that same old window
The grime now encrusting its sill
Dirty fingerprints peppering its pane
There she goes again
Crying at what she lost
So she looks out that window
Expecting him to appear
As if he’d be strolling down the street
and He’d give a friendly wave
As if everything was going to be ok again.
It’s not the nature she stares at
Or the misty fog settling over the hilltops
Or the subtle tint of sunlight on the delicate leaves
Staring without a purpose
The trees have been stripped of their lavish leaves
The sparrows, they don’t sing anymore
The grass is dry and it crackles beneath your feet
But, still,  she stares out that window
Praying for time to stop
So she doesn’t have to do this anymore
Distant sounds of bombs crashing
People screaming
Fire crackling
Gunshots ricocheting off of nothing
Buzzing around her like swarms
But still,
She stares out that window.
The ghosts of old memories
Fog around that window
Fogging up those old glasses
That she hasn’t removed since he left.
Same old creaky chair.
Same old scarf that she’s been knitting for years.
Same old scuffed up shoes on the carpet
But still, she stares out that window
Waiting for his return.....

"Imprisonment"

Cold Lank Floor
Stings me as I sit upon it.
Trapped in my own mind
Solitary confinement
It’s too dark in here
Too depressing
I must find a way out.
A window
Look at What little light shines through it
Perhaps that’s the solution !

“Class Dismissed!”

The words escape from my mouth before I can think of how to say them. I can hear the students grumbling as they grab their books. Sometimes, I wish one of them would come to talk to me. I watch them as they file out, one by one, like impatient ants. There goes Auburn. The quiet one of the bunch. Never speaks. Never smiles. She wears that same old expression on her face. Then again, she is the only one who understands any of the material we go over. I like that about her. Not a word but manages to get good grades. 

I wonder what her home life is like. I wonder if she's happy. All I wish is to fascinate these children by helping them learn the wonders of Physics. God, it sounds boring even to me. No use being vivacious when I don’t want to teach the material. No one thinks to ask about how I’m doing. The only time these students talk to me is if I mess up their grades. Over 180 kids. You should try grading that many papers in one night. I wish these students knew that my grandpa passed away last week. I wish I could talk to them. But no, I’m just a teacher who grades their work and supposedly prepares them for the future, when I know that 70% of these children will work in a 9-5 office job. Except for Auburn. She’ll go on to do amazing things.

"The Myth of the Sea Horse"

Ahe loved the ocean. She loved the way the sea breeze picked up her hair. She loved the way the soft, mushy sand felt between her wriggling toes. Most of all, she loved the wonders that the sea enclosed. One day, she dived into the waves and swam down to touch the coral; floating about in the water and marveling at the vibrant fish around her. As she laid her fingertips on the prickly coral, a small seahorse came flitting out of the seaweed Ahe marveled at the tiny wonder. Unable to contain her excitement, she swam out of the water, and ran onto the shore, flailing her arms as she sprinted to her grandmother, Casca. Ahe looked deep into Casca’s weary, brown irises, and asked her, “Grandma, I came to find a creature with a long snout and a tiny body. I wanted to catch it but it swam away from me. What is it, grandma?”

Casca looked up to her granddaughter and smiled, wrinkles forming around her lips. “Ah, my child. You speak of the seahorse. Come sit and let me tell you the tale of Kai’lio”, she said patting the ground, as she spoke. Ahe sat down on the warm sand rested her head on Casca’s lap, as her grandmother stroked her hair, running her fingers through its deep roots. Ahe closes her eyes, the sun warming the pair, as Casca clears her throat.

“Now you see, Kai’lio was a very handsome nymph. All the mermaids had an infatuation for him. His father was Kai, King of the Sea. Kai’lio was almost as handsome as his father, however, after his mother’s passing, his father had sworn to never love again. Kai’lio, though with all his admirers, had only one lover. Her name was Nani. Nani was the most beautiful sea nymph.”

Casca paused and looked at Ahe. “Just like you, my darling!” Ahe giggled to herself. Casca resumed. “All the others would be jealous. Kai’lio was quite the fortunate guy. Nani’s mother, Huhū, was very strict. She forbade her to see Kai’lio. Nani, being the naive juvenile she was, went to him anyway. Huhū interrogated Nani by using her magical power to see through her, discovering she was pregnant with Kai’lio’s child. Huhū banished Nani from their home, and Nani was left wandering the reefs to find her Kai’lio. There was one nymph who was very in love with Kai’lio. Her name was Lili. She would do whatever she could to entice Kai’lio. That night, Lili came to Kai’lio’s home and pleaded for him to love her. Ignoring his resists, Lili started seducing him. As Nani approached his home she saw Lili getting close to Kai’lio. 

“Grandmother, why is Lili so mean?” asked Ahe. her wide curious eyes begged for her grandmother to answer her question. 

“When people want things they can’t have, they become angry and selfish,” Casca replied.
Ahe nudged her Casca’s knee. “Go on!”

“Okay, little one.” Casca laughed

“Nani fainted, clutching her stomach. Kai’lio heard her and broke free from Lili. as he rushed out of his home. Nani had turned cold and hard to the touch, her kind heart no longer beating in her chest. Kai’lio knelt beside her body as he lay his hand on her stomach. Lili loomed above them both, as Kai’lo held Nani’s hand, which could no longer hold him anymore. She attempted to grab Kai’lio’s hand but he hexes Lili to get sucked into the ground, and she turns into lava. Kai’lio’s tear falls on to Nani’s stomach, and he feels a sudden burden on him. He gets up to lay down in his bed, but trips and falls, piercing his finger on a spike of coral. From his finger, bursts thousands of tiny creatures, flitting into the darker sea below. Nani’s lifeless, glowing face illuminates the dark sea around her. For one last time, she smiles for all the ocean to see. Her body wilts into the sand and what’s left of Nani is a clump of sand. The tiny newborn sea horses swam over to the sand clump and started playing in it. Little did they know that these were the remains of Nani, the one that Kai’lio could not have. “That, my child, is the tale of the Sea Horse.”

Casca took a handful of sand and sprinkled it onto the ground, as Ahe watched her. “The foam in the waves is the spirit of Nani and her unborn child.” Ahe ran to the shore and cupped her hands as the water flowed in. She ran back to her grandmother, as the water seeped out of her hold and had fallen into the sand. 

Casca chuckled when she saw this. “Ah, now Kai’lio and Nani have finally reunited.” Ahe spotted a white shell peeking out of the sand and ran to pick it up. She dusted the sand off and clutched the shell in her hand, as she ran over to Casca, now getting up and smoothing her white skirt. Casca holds out her hand and Ahe places her small palm into it. Ahe skips along with her grandmother and says, “What other wonders can we find in the sea, Grandma?” Casca chuckles and says, “There are many, my child. Each one has its own story.”

The Man I Supposedly Call “Father”

A lot of people in this world have fathers. Some are fortunate enough. Some are not. Some have many. Some have none. I, however, belong to the vast group of kids with fathers. Now, I am 14 years old. Most people think teenagers don’t give mind to their parents. But it’s Father’s Day and I’d like to publicize my affection by writing this. This is my Father’s Day gift. Usually, it’s some sappy card or sloppy craft. And it just absolutely amazes me how parents can still appreciate something so… inept. I’m sure there's a lot to being a father. For one, you have to make a ton of sacrifices which evolve as you grow. When I was a baby, it was diaper changing. As a toddler, it was feeding me spinach. I still detest spinach though. I don’t know how my dad keeps us alive, while he fulfills his ambitions. I'm sure by his age, most parents don’t care about their own wishes anymore. My dad wanted to be an actor, from his childhood. 

It’s been almost 40 years and still, he’s trying. He’s not like Leonardo DiCaprio famous, but everyone knows him as an actor. He has to travel abroad a lot, and it’s definitely taken a toll on his family. Most kids see their dads in the morning and again in the evening. My dad goes to India for as long as six months at a time! I was always sad to see my mom sit out during couples’ games at parties. I used to hate seeing my friends hug their fathers because mine was nowhere near. But, the more he travels, the more I’m thankful he’s here. There’s always an empty void in our family when he’s gone. But I have a ton to say about him when he’s at home. We like to refer to our dad as a “neat-freak. I’ll explain this. Basically, my dad acts like he’s about to murder me when he sees something on the floor. He will start raging if he sees a drop of water on the sink. He literally starts sneezing if he sees dust in a movie or something! He’s also a health-freak. 

Our fridge is basically filled with only green things when he’s here. Well, that and Corona Beers. He also won’t let us waste food and he can’t stand fast food. He also will Not. Stop. Cleaning. A good chunk of our summer break has been spent cleaning the house. There are good things and annoying things about my dad. But, I still love him. I think it’s hilarious how he can still crack jokes when he’s mad. He’s a good man. He respects women. He loves everyone. And he’s a good dad. I’m happy I have him as a dad. 

Love you Dad!

to read more of my pieces please visit my blog : http://manushrees.blogspot.com

Tunnel for the Soul

Trinkle, Trinkle

Down in Pain

Your heart still aches when you see the rain

Your mind still sears with the thoughts of light.

But you'll never find it in this cold, brutal night.

Chickens...

01-14-2073

Right. Left. Right. Left. I stare at my sneaker-clad feet as I walk down this gravel road. Each step takes me farther into the unknown. To a place that will hopefully hold me safe. All I need to do is escape this life I’ve lived in for so long. Too long. One more step. One more tear.

The cold wind is my only friend. All those words. All those faces. Stick to me like glue. Each time they told me I couldn’t.

All I need to do is forget. Everything.

The world will end in a week. And I’m the only one left. My name is Aderyn. I know. Unusual. You’ve probably never heard it before. It means “Bird”. I know, when I learned that too I cried.

I hope I don’t get too attached to you because you’re just a journal. And you always will be. Face the facts, you stupid journal.

I’m sorry, I hurt your feelings. I loved teasing Cryan. He was a great little brother. Too bad the plague took him. It took everyone. Now the only things left are me, the wind, and a couple stupid chickens here and there.

01-15-2073

I’m a Vegan. Always was. I can’t stop being vegan. But there is nothing to eat. I’ve traveled for so long. Miles and miles and haven’t found one single store! All these chickens. They tease me. They tease me like I teased you and I teased Cryan and he teased our dog and she teased the cat who teased the birds. The birds teas- &&&&&&&&&&&&&

01-18-2073

My pen ran out of ink and now I have to use this ugly navy color. It’s been a few hours and I’m starving, to say the least.  The chickens still tease me. Am I insane? Maybe I should take a decision, or else I’ll die of starvation. Chickens are overpopulated anyway... This piece was a small recreation that my friend, Lily Rhyne, and I wrote on a free evening.

Cursed Cat

“See you in the evening!”

Mom caresses my hand and adorns me with kisses before I get a chance to pull away. I grab my backpack, adjust my hoodie and walk into the school.

Squeak squeak! Ms. Penny scrawls out words on the whiteboard while simultaneously speaking.

“Snow White and the seven dwarfs is meant to teach a lesson of common sense. As you can see, Little Snow wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed ‘“because she was taken advantage of twice! First, the evil queen cuts off her circulation. Next, she poisons her! The tales were much more gruesome than the sappy Disney movies they show nowadays.

Ms. Penny draws a quick sketch of something that looks like a potato with lots of hair. She sloppily writes “Rapunzel” down at the bottom.

“In the Disney version. Rapunzel has Flynn take her to the lanterns and SPOILER ALERT she finds out that she is the lost princess. That’s the true story, right? WRONG! Actually, the prince is not a thief, like Flynn is. He finds Rapunzel in the castle and they fall in love. Then the prince leaves the castle and the witch finds out what they did. So she does cut off Rapunzel’s hair and tie it to the windowsill, and the prince does climb the hair only to be smacked by the witch. Plus, the thorns do hurt his eyes…. So then Rapunzel gets kicked out of the tower ‘cause her magical hair is useless now and she wanders around in the forest and gives birth to twins. The blind prince follows her singing voice and the babies cry and they live happily ever after!”

Everyone is so quiet that you could’ve heard a pin drop.

Ms. Penny drinks her water and the intercom comes on. Mr. Garibaldi’s voice booms through the speakers.

“Hey Everybody! Five more minutes until the weekend, guys! The Science Club will meet today from four to seven for the Biology Bonanza! Congrats to Thomas Wu and Kunal Patel for placing third in the Geography Bee. Our Food for Champs fundraiser will begin next week! Donate canned foods, blankets, and deodorant for a chance to win an iPad Mini!” The class buzzes with excitement after that line.  “Alright, everyone, that is it! Have a great weekend!”

The intercom turns off and everyone resumes their chatter.

The bell rings and everyone stampedes through the door. I try not to get squished in the ambush as I make it down the hall. Success!

Aunt Jasmine is waiting for me in her red car.

“Hey, little nugget!”, she says as she ruffles my hair.

“How was school?”  I prepare my sarcastic response

“Exciting. I’m hungry, let's GO!” Jazz steps on the gas, and we zoom out of the parking lot. I love Aunt Jasmine and all but the woman can’t drive.

We pull up to the shop and Jazz opens the door for me.

“Your Majesty’s bubble tea…” she bows down and leads the way.  The moment I step in, the aroma of taro overwhelms me. Jazz’s fiancée, Gen twirls in, holding a purple drink with a green straw.

“I assumed you would be coming,” he says. Gen gives Jazz a hug and says, “You will not believe what came in the mail!” He runs into the kitchen and brings out a big box. There’s a big label that says, “From Tokyo” Aunt Jasmine’s eyes light up and she tears away at the packaging. Inside, there is bubble wrap and packaging peanuts. Jazz digs further into the box and pulls out something.

My aunt cradles a giant brass cat statue with the creepiest smile imaginable. I cringe just looking at the thing.

“Who’s the cutest wittle kitty? Oh yes, you are!” Jazz cradles the cat, like an actual baby and Rico starts tickling its chin! I cannot believe they’re actually baby-talking a fake cat. Someone get them a dog! I slowly slip into the back room.

Where are those gummies? I rummage through all the boxes but can’t seem to find them. Great. All I wanted was an evening with me and my Haribo gummies. The back room smells like fish and taroーa not-so-good combination.  I think I’ve lost my appetite.

Gen dances in through the door and lays down the cat on the counter. He goes out immediately after Jazz calls out to him.

The cat’s glassy eyes stare into my soul. It’s hand rocks back and forth.  Forward. Backward. Forward. Backward.

I’m drawn into a mesmerized trance as I reach out to touch the cat. My fingers trace the Japanese symbols written on its hand.

FLASH!
    Ow. I fall back into the silver racks and fortunately spill nothing. The cat’s eyes are glowing and its mouth starts opening. Something floats out of its mouth. A little pink cloud erupts from the creepy smile.

I cannot believe what I’m seeing. A little figure is floating around the cat statue.

“Salaam! Ana aljuniyu alqui!” it chirps.

“Umm, I don’t think I understand.”, I reply

A very heavy accent erupts out of its mouth. “Greetings master! I am the all-powerful Anzar! Here at your command!”

Did I get enough sleep last night?! Since when do little genies appear out of cat statues?

I feel a little dizzy. Am I insane?! My thoughts are interrupted by the genie.

“Don’t just stare at me, foolish mortal! I’m sure you’ve heard this tale a hundred times! Now act like the 8th grader you are and ask me the wishes!

“H-how do you know I’m in eighth grade?”, I stutter.

“You really are stupid. I am an all-powerful genie and if I have the power to grant you wishes then I can know what grade you’re in!

I run out of the room while the little figure blabbers away. Jazz needs to know that the cat is possessed.

“..and a chocolate coffee jelly milkshake.” She’s taking someone’s order.

“Ok, one California rolls 6 count and a Choco Coffee Jelly Shake to go. Anything else, Ma’am?

“That will be all, thank you!”

“Ok, just take a seat there and Gen will be out with your food in a jiffy!”

The customer sits down and I tug on Jazz’s apron.

“Hey, nugget! Your mom’s picking you up at 7. She wants you to finish your homework so you can go to Sid’s house faster.” I ignore her words and tug harder.

“Jazz! Can I talk to you real quick?”

Just then, a man and his two daughters walk in. Oh, for the love of Pete! Why does everyone have to ruin everything?!

“Oh, I’m sorry baby! It’s rush hour. Auntie will be a little busy. How about you ask Gen?”

I give her a reluctant “sure”

…

Gen is shining the cat with a wet towel.

“It was a little dusty in the box, no? Now it is beautiful. Almost as beautiful as your aunt.”

I stop him before he gets too mushy. My brain storms up a convincing lie.

“Hey Gen! So at school we’re doing this project about different parts of Asia and I chose Tokyo!

“Oh wow! I see you are being quite patriotic, no?”

“Um..yeah! So,  I need this cat statue to symbolize the importance and stuff.

Gen gives me a thumbs up. “That cat is dear to your auntie so make sure to return it. Also, be careful! I spent almost 30 minutes cleaning it!

I slip the cat in my backpack, and run to Jazz’s heated office. I only have so much time! I need to ask her why she’s in here!

After many failed attempts, I trace the lettering and the genie appears. She is filing her tiny nails.  I’m greeted with an annoyed look from her.

“Finally! Did you come up with a wish yet?

“Uh… how did you get in there?” She looks super annoyed with my question.

“Do you not understand the phrase, “Three Wishes”?! Call me when you’ve thought of something.”

“Wait wait wait! Er.. I wish to know how you ended up in there.”

With an eye roll, she declares, “Fine. Your wish is my command.

After a dramatic pause, she starts balbering away.

“I was discovered by a Taiwanese toddler. The little idiot drops the lamp in a pond and hides me in his family’s lucky cat. It was terrible!  All the other genies get insulated velvet sofas but instead I slept on the floors of a cold ceramic cat! Then the family sells me to a pawn shop, and generation after generation passed this cat down. Somehow I ended up here…”

“When did the kid find you?”, I ask

“About a few million years ago.”, she says casually.

If this genie has lived for more than a million years than she can do anything! I must think through my wishes carefully.

My thoughts shift to somewhere else. Visions of food cloud my brain. I’m so sick and tired of sushi and boba! My lips begin to open.

“I wish for… a bowl of cheesy lasagna and brownies for dessert….” I can feel myself drooling.

“Seriously?!” She rolls her eyes again. “Well you get what you wish for.” With a bow she says, “Your wish is my command.”

A big blue bowl full of meaty, cheesy goodness appears in front of me. A glass plate full of hot, soft, chocolate brownies is set next to the bowl.

“Come to Mama!” My hand reaches out to eat the scalding lasagna.

“Ow!” I quickly retract my hand and wave it around.

“Ouch! Ouch! I wish for a fork!”, I shout.

The genie zaps my plate and a shiny, metal fork appears. Anzar is dying with laughter just as I realize I’ve used my last wish.

“Oh crap! Oh, what luck! I’m such an idiot!” I scold myself.

If that wasn’t enough the bowl and plate disappear.

“Foolish girl! Of all these years, so many people have wished for riches; for happiness! Instead you wish for food?! HAHAHA!” The little genie conjures up a suitcase and starts floating towards the cat.

“Sayonara, stupid!” A hat appears on her tiny head and she tips it.

“No! No! NO!”, I scream at the cat.

The door opens and Jazz comes in.

“Wow, you really love that cat, don’t you?”, she laughs.  “You know, nugget, you can keep it if you want.”

“Um,, No Thanks! Er-I mean, it’s ok. It’s yours.”, I tell her.

“Are you sure?”, she asks. I nod as she lifts the cat and we walk to the counter.

I smell a delicious aroma and find Gen sitting at a table with big plastic bags.

“Since it’s a Friday, we thought you’d like some lasagna from the Italian place down the street.”, Jazz says.

“Oh my gosh! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! ” I repeat my thank-yous until I reach the table. Gen lays a plate of lasagna and surprise, surprise一chocolate brownies on the table! Jazz spoons the lasagna on a plate for me and hands me a plastic fork 一while I burst out in laughter. It’s been a quite the crazy day!