“Hello.”“Hello, this is Kumar’s Dad. He is a student in your First grade class”, I said.“Oh, yes. I know Kumar. How are you Mr….?” she...asked.“I am Mr. Veeresh. But I want to talk to you about his lunch. He complains that you have been eating most of his lunch. May I know why you keep doing this?” I asked rather politely, trying to hide my anger.“I am so sorry, Mr. Veeresh. You know I don’t get to eat South Indian dishes like dosas, idlis, vadas, rice and sambar, Upma, and all that wonderful. .. and then, looking up from the dashboard of the car, she suddenly noticed that her mother was standing by the large bay window at the front of the house, smiling at her and giving her a friendly wave."Fuck," Sarah muttered under her breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck, fuck a duck. Fine. Let's get this fucking over with." She pulled hard on the parking brake, and twisted her keys in the ignition, angrily yanking them out and shoving them in her little black designer purse. She slammed the car. More

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