DAY 38





Posted by: Puja  :  Category: MY 90 DAY WRITING CHALLENGE

Some fights with your sisters you can remember forever. Most of them dissolve, but there are a few, that stay with you, sometimes , reminding you of why you would never want to fight with her again.

Writing about Amla and Asya’s first fight, I thought of the times my sister and I slammed doors, peeking in afterwards to apologize, sometimes just hugging, sometimes never talking about it, but meeting eyes and knowing we were able to express emotion with each other that we could never with anyone else in our lives, not our parents or even significant others. Just something only sisters know.

DAY 31





Posted by: Puja  :  Category: MY 90 DAY WRITING CHALLENGE

Writing about one of your biggest fears is hard.

In my story, I am writing about the characters’ mother becoming very ill…

I am always worrying about my parent’s health and my worst fear is losing one of them suddenly, the way my grandfather was taken away from our lives.

Today after writing about her becoming sick, I had to take a moment and stop as I felt my heart become heavy for Amla and Asya.

DAY 21





Posted by: Puja  :  Category: MY 90 DAY WRITING CHALLENGE

For sisters out there:

Siblings, sisters and brothers, will tell me stories of when they had to tell on their sibling, when it was a matter of getting in severe trouble. Friends will tell me, My sister ratted me out or I told on my brother because I had to…

There is something about sisters that defies all that. I know sisters fight all the time, my sister and I did. Over clothes or music albums, over makeup and halloween candy, even over attention from our parents.

But we protected each other, because we could feel one another in our actions, smile, walk, body. We don’t rat each other out, we get in trouble for each other, we feel everything the other one feels. There is a connection that no one can ever describe, that the world can’t always understand that happens with sisters. There isn’t the testosterone and ego’s that brothers can possess and never admit to, not that disconnect of a gender gap between brother and sister, not the generation gap between child and parent, there’s the root of the being the same but so different, the root of something indescribable that’s present that even with the best of girlfriends, doesn’t exist. This is the bond I am trying to put into words in my story, what I am trying to capture if it can be…the true bond of sisters.

home for the holidays.





Posted by: Puja  :  Category: Sima: Diary of an Indian Girl

The holidays came, and they flew to New York and filled their hearts with her father’s hugs, her mother’s voice, his mother’s dosas and coconut chutney, his nieces’ laughter. They stayed up drinking and talking to his sister and brother in law, they watched movies with her sister and brother and she loved the way he joked with her grandmother in Gujarati. It was the best Christmas she said she had in a long time.

When they got back, she was thrilled to feel warmth, to have sun and sand at her toes again. She thought of the cold, dark skies of winter which in no way felt like home to her anymore.

“Should we move to New York, like maybe in the city, for a few months before the wedding?”

They were lying down, talking, and as she let the sound of the ocean in and closed her eyes. She thought of the busy streets, the subway steam through sidewalk vents and taxi cabs honking at corners, the smell of pizzerias and pretzel stands, things that made New York City what it was to her for so many years.

“Why?”

She asked. She thought of the way her heart ached when she missed her sister, the way only sisters can feel; she thought of the distance that grew with her brother as they led their own lives miles and miles apart. The way her parents sounded so happy when she said she would be visiting. The friends she missed chatting in person with.

“I don’t know…”

She looked at him as he missed the things she missed too, and started to think of leaving the life they had built in California; Their own place, own life, own start.

“I miss New York sometimes, too.”

They didn’t speak for some time and she wondered if they were thinking the same things, which often happened between them. She thought of her mother, leaving India, to a new place, a new world almost, for a life with her father, her career, their future children.

“Where are we happiest?”

She let it sit with him, the question they had to answer about what it was that mattered to them most. What it was that made them feel alive, every single day.

Mostly, when they took trips back to New York, they visited their families, spent time with friends and when the busy days became calm, more quiet, she always saw a sadness sit with him.

I don’t like New Jersey… I hate the cold.…I want my kids to have sun and the ocean…

His thoughts resounded against what she already started to feel, to know about what felt right.

Someone needs to do it; someone needs to break that cycle. We don’t have to be somewhere we aren’t happy because our parents had to be there. We can make it work, we already see our families every other month…and we are okay. Her sister and her had a bond that was always strong. Her brother was growing up; she had to let him go. His nieces always loved their visits. Their parents…in the end always wanted them to start their own life-it’s what parents did- let their children be. They had friends all over the country, it always worked. All that matters is when we have each other. All we need is to be happy within ourselves. Doing what we love, being where we feel good, all the time. And for now, it was here, she thought. Who knew what the future held. She didn’t want to live in the future, she wanted to live in the present.

She let her thoughts race and as they filled her mind, she let her new sense of grounding settle in. She would be okay anywhere.

“When our lease is up here, maybe, we could live in that house we saw, you know near bird rock, right by the ocean.”

She listened to him, to his own realization that felt in sync with hers.

“Should I call the real estate agent?”

Sima didn’t say anything as he awaited her reply. She kept her eyes closed and simply kissed him.