When I was fifteen I went for an interview at a modeling school. This was my brother's idea. He was a professional musician by then, touring on the road, and he now moved in a world of models and media and music. For some reason, he thought it would be a good idea for his kid sister, too. I had recently "blossomed," as they said. My braces were off, my waist seemed to have stretched five inches, and when I went to get my hair cut at the local salon, the hairdresser asked if he could photograph me for their window, since my hair "showed so well." I shrugged. The compliments gave me some pleasure but did not sink in much. --From "Inheritance"Buy About Face: Women Write about What They See When They Look in the Mirror at Amazon.
Sheila came to me by word of mouth. Another mother in my Upper West Side building had a daughter who would be starting school full-time, would need her for only a few hours in the late afternoon. My son had been born in the summer, and I was looking for a nanny to begin part-time at first. My sense of the job, of how many hours, of even what I expected a nanny to do, was completely vague--from "Sisters"Buy Between Mothers and Nannies at Amazon.
It began for us with her hair. One afternoon my mother came home with the worst hairdo I'd ever seen. She'd had it dyed and permed, only something went wrong. Her curls had kinked into an orangey, frizzy mass, accenting the freckles on her face. When she came downstairs for supper, my father took one look at her and let out a loud laugh, declaring in his West Indian accent, "You look like a mushroom gone been pickled!" Bursting into tears, my mother ran upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom.--from "Hollywood"Buy Mixed: An Anthology of Short Fiction on the Multiracial Experience at Amazon.
Victor knows he's doomed the instant his mother emerges from the subway stop on Flatbush Avenue.Her long black waves are gone--utterly gone. Instead her hair is a bright yellow, cropped tight against her skull. Gold hoops bounce against her long neck. With her dark, arched eyebrows, she looks good, striking even, like Halley Berry, just who his mom wants to be.But he's sure, with a dull angry weight in his stomach, what it means. They're moving again.--from "The Plan"Buy Make Me Over at Amazon.
All the time I ask my mother about my grandparents, but she doesn't answer. "Leave that alone, Jemma," she'll say. "Look at what's in front of you, not behind."--from "Gold"Buy Face Relations at Amazon.
(India-Seminar.com)I am sitting in a café in Jackson Heights with Partha Bannerjee eating a quick dal and roti lunch. Jackson Heights, New York is called Little India, a wedge of narrow streets in Queens, elevated train tracks slashing a dark shadow over the Indian grocers, video and CD, sari and jewellery shops.
Out of IndiaAmerican yogis have enthusiastically embraced all things Indian. But what do people of Indian descent think of Americans "borrowing" their culture?Culture ShockHow yoga's popularity in the West is changing the way Indians approach a practice created in their country thousands of years ago.
(Integral)Interstate 78 is a highway corridor that shoots straight west from Newark, slashing deep into the heart of suburban New Jersey. This is prime Philip Roth territory, where upwardly mobile Jews like the Patimkins in Goodbye, Columbus left their tenement origins for the tony streets of Short Hills. I've come here too, fresh from a cramped apartment in Manhattan, only to discover that the route to success has forked. Get off at exit 50B and depending on which way our family turns --to the left for Millburn or the right for Maplewood--we're entering two very different Americas, with two distinct visions of education and our children's futures.
(visavismag.com)When I was growing up I loved to watch reruns of Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?, a movie in which handsome Sidney Poitier declares his love for a young woman from a white, well-to-do Philadelphia family. Both families -black and white- do everything they can to dissuade the happy couple....
(Dissent)Last March, when the body of Cheddi Jagan, former President of Guyana, lay in state near the tiny village where he was born, the crowds of villagers and sugar workers streaming past to catch a last glimpse of their leader were so enormous that the cremation ceremony had to be postponed.