photograph by the mother [ backflip by me ]

Last night a friend asked me, "Where is your homeland?"
I said nothing, for what could I say?
My homeland is not Egypt or Syria or Iraq.
My homeland's a place that has never had a name.

                                    -Jalal-ud-Din Rumi

I was born in India
and used to figure that made me Indian.
It runs deep in my veins, but I see now that so do a lot of other things…
things more ancient than this planet

my parents have taken to telling me I’ve become “too American”
Americans I know say I speak British
the Brits say I speak American
and even though nowhere really fits
and you’d expect an identity crisis here,
it’ all seems to fit so well that these lines don’t matter-

no one more than another
I’m just a child of the universe, and I’m dealing with it
like a friend once said:
home is where people love you and the people you love are-
and my home is boundless


  1. your home is boundless. and you are boundlessly illuminous and fresh and beautiful just like your home! what a delightful prose, my indian, british speaking friend….love to you!

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