Asian Roots
Red folds of wedding dress
Corals and crystals, the necklace of a wife
Bangles, golden as sunset
A part of Mother’s life
Her home was Bombay, the city of sound
From the shouts in the terraces to the wheels on the ground
Aromas of spices from the bazaar
People in and out by the hazaar
And a certain yellow house with a nearby lake
With my aunts and uncle and a garden with a rake
Guarded by two dogs that made half the uproar
Of Bombay’s great din with its crowds and its stores
It wasn’t Egypt, it wasn’t great Rome
But it was my mother’s beloved home
But all was different when it was my mother’s turn
To get married and change; there was much to learn
Of new types of people and new types of coins
And a new, American home in Des Moines
Everything silent, everything still
And a gloomy, snowy sky with a terrible chill
No more spices and no more crowds
No more noises incredibly loud
And loved family members countries away
Without Mother’s sisters and brothers, Des Moines seemed gray
But life went on
Mother began to not mind
In new people and snow she began to find
New parts of herself that came by and by
Learning to love it all was like learning to fly
But that wasn’t all
She had gained so much more
She had accomplishments and memories galore
And a son who was smart, funny, and tall
Mother could even cook without burning it all
Then after many years, in California, The Golden State
It just might have been luck, chance, or fate
That a daughter came along, a girl who was me
A girl with different surroundings, who grew up differently
Like two ends of a rainbow
Were my mother and I
Knowing different shades of life, different blues in the sky
I stood up each day with my hand on my heart
Reciting the Pledge to a flag of red, white, and blue
Mother’s country was so far apart
She sang the anthem she knew
Each night I craved for a dinner of Chinese or Thai
Yet Mother, at my age, only knew of dosas and fish fry
But together we make all the colors in the sky
With each side of our spectrum, my mother and I
I did not have an accent, like the one Mother had
But I knew Indian traditions passed down from Mom and Dad
I watched fireworks in July, but lit diyas on Diwali
Anne of Green Gables sat on my bed, but also books in Hindi
Yes, I ate burgers, but gobbled roti
I became who I am from my parents’ story