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from COOL WEDDING
by Latha Viswanathan
Dear Lakshmi:
In the summer, this place is like India: Bombay, Madras, only fancy name Houston-Pouston, America. My skin feels like bubble gum even after fresh-oil bath. I am wearing eggplant-color handloom sari, oiling and plaiting hair, putting kumkum tikka on forehead and going to puja room in closet. I am placing banana bunch and broken coconut on stainless-steel thali before Ganesh, lighting four sandalwood incense sticks. Please God, remover of obstacles, I am saying, wake up my shakti part. You have placed me here in America. Help me influence my husband Cheenu, children, Sudhir, Sushila and Siddharth. I am doing namaskaram prostration then crossing my hands, touching opposite earlobe, and squatting and standing, squatting and standing, physical penance before Ganesha. He is kindly forgiving all wrong tendencies on my part. This also helping my fitness program.
You know I always say we Indians not believing in psychologist, therapist, why talk to strangers when you can talk to close sister, after all, nothing like family, though spoiled children and husband make me question that wisdom sometimes. Did I know married life in America would turn out this way, that day when Cheenu came to our flat in Matunga, and I was only nineteen, rosebud faced in emerald Binny silk sari? Even after marriage, and Sudhir and Sushila coming along in New Jersey, then Siddharth belated surprise in Texas, I did not have any inking of my present life.
Anyway, you asked about my job, my trip to Louisiana -- our nephew Vikram's wedding; yes, cousin Leela was there with Dhakshisriramabadran, and I saw the Patels, Ila and Arun. I will try to tell you, bring you up-to-date on all those things including the difficulties in my family life . . . .