Trail of Broken Wings

by Sejal Badani

never depend on another person for your happiness. If someone had the authority to give, then he or she had the authority to take away.

Both highly educated, focused on their careers. Neither makes any apologies for her life choices—regardless of whom they hurt. They are both beautiful but neither bothers to enhance their looks.

methi na thepla, one of her favorite childhood foods from her home state of Gujarat.

The past, no matter how definite, does not have the power to determine the future.

She was the one bruised, whereas it was my job to hold her, comfort her as best I could. It was easier than I imagined. When you stand unharmed, you find the strength to help those fallen at your feet.

The fresh garlic naan is warm. We use it to scoop up the baingan bharta—eggplant sakh mixed with fresh tomatoes and onions.

Nothing is gained from getting too close to people. From sharing secrets, dreams, and hopes. When you give a piece of yourself to someone, count on them to hold it safe, you become vulnerable. You depend on them, but they may not be the person you expected, the one you were sure could carry you. Then the disappointment becomes a burden to bear. It is better to keep yourself at a distance, never getting too close.

Most of the women wore saris, while the girls wore chaniya cholis—ankle-length skirts and short blouses that left their stomachs and arms bare.

Energy doesn’t stand still; it moves, shifts with time. I think maybe we are meant to do the same, to see the world not as we fear it is but as we hope for it to be—kinder, gentler, each lesson not meant to destroy but to enable. To learn that we are not stagnant, but rather move with those around us, each one of us melting into the other, becoming one though our bodies separate us. Our hurts and our joys are meant to be shared, the burden easier when another holds your hand.

home is not a place or a lifestyle, but the state of your heart and all the people who take their place in it.