Anoop Judge | Author · Writing Instructor · Former T.V. Host​

It was something so small no one had even noticed it . . .

Gingerly she runs her tongue over her lower lip, tasting the buttery Lakme Fuschia Fury lipstick Mummy had generously slathered on her thirty minutes ago. Now she can hear her brother’s raspy voice calling her from their drawing-room. The bride viewing party must have arrived.

It was her cue to go into the kitchen and pick up the plastic tray sitting on the Formica counter with its prepared pot of tea, and four Wedgewood China teacups.

Opening the locked door . . .

It is raining. My black Mary Jane shoes—part of my uniform at Mater Dei School—are squelchy and wet from the puddles I found on the street. I ran blindly as thunder clapped and lightning rent the air, fleeing from monsters who lurk in hidden alleys —men of unsound mind who flash their private parts at innocent school girls. This is what Mamma cautions me about every night as she tucks me in, and I snuggle into the comfort of her smell—a mix of Himalayan sandalwood talc and sulphuric acid.

Anoop Judge is a blogger and an author, who’s lived in the San Francisco-Bay Area for the past 27 years. As an Indian-American writer, her goal is to discuss the diaspora of Indian people in the context of twenty-first century America.