My Divorce from the Indian Gods When I moved to America, I filed for divine divorce. Irreconcilable differences: they wanted daily prayers, I wanted free speech and self-reliance. We separated amicably. I kept the spices and yoga, they kept the festivals. They got custody of my mother. I got a job, a visa, and a mild identity crisis. And suffering—turns out I did like the colors, the clothes, the music—but I threw out those babies with the god water. For sixteen years we didn

Glossy acrylic latex paint Glossy acrylic latex paint. Oil-based primer.  Glossy acrylic latex paint. Oil-based primer.  I say this twice more driving into Dove Meadow Retail Complex. No way I’m going to get mugged off by the guy in Paint Passion or, more importantly, let him know I’m the type of person that doesn’t know anything about paints and, ergo, am not very handy or outdoorsy and probably just some soft-fingered digital nomad that writes marketing copy all day. Which

Thirty years ago, my best friend John died. In his honour and in my fog of grief, I rescued a beautiful mutt puppy in Montreal, the city where he died. I named her Zoey, Greek for "life". Wanting to be the most excellent of good mummies but having very little money, I found a wee guest house in Los Angeles for the two of us. The structure was more shack than house but, oh, the yard! It was huge, and anchored by an extraordinary orange tree that perfumed my Spring evenings wit

Two days before my twenty-first birthday, I emailed my father after nearly a decade. The last I’d heard of him, he was in Nepal, to which my mother scoffed that he’d rather take care of a couple of monks than his daughter. I said, Ammi , I said that she couldn’t say that. Someone could hear, Ammi . I wish he had heard. I am bitter and I stalk his Flickr photos and see him ringing a Tibetan singing bowl and I wish my mother’s words rang in his ears like he was getting hazed at