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When you ask me
Do you speak Indian?
The 378 breathing dialects lividly pivoting from the tips of my digits to the slits of my eyelids
Stop flowing
India is made of 29 states, I come from the heart of Tamil Nadu, Chennai, and we speak Tamil
At least
They speak Tamil, but my Indian is a wildflower,
Erratic and fast picked set laterally on crabgrass, rootless
My Indian is velcro straps, sippy cups, a preschooler
My Indian is encased in a cardboard space labeled and more misplaced every time I write the letter a
I tell my mother we can watch her favorite childhood movie, with subtitles
My Indian has terms and conditions that I agreed to at birth, I
Can wear a sari at my wedding, as long as it’s white.
In history class, I flip to the chapter on my culture in the classical era
Print edition 2008 USA and they display Sanskrit sayings that I don’t understand yet,
My momma, amma, taught me to let my Indian pervade the blockade made by decades away from home, but when
You ask me
If I speak Indian
I ask myself that, too




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DeskFrog said...
today at 9:39 am
This is amazing!
 
rheatrainson said...
yesterday at 5:42 pm
im indian too and can totally relate! this is beautiful :)
 
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