South Asian – Michigan Quarterly Review

South Asian

The Syncretic Saris of Banaras

I came to Banaras in the winter of 2010 seeking answer to one question: was the sari—the nine-yard piece of cloth worn by Indian women—Hindu or Muslim? This might sound like an odd question, but in the context of India it isn’t, where even allegedly eating beef can get a person beaten to death, or while killing a cow in the state of Gujarat earns life imprisonment.

The Syncretic Saris of Banaras Read More »

I came to Banaras in the winter of 2010 seeking answer to one question: was the sari—the nine-yard piece of cloth worn by Indian women—Hindu or Muslim? This might sound like an odd question, but in the context of India it isn’t, where even allegedly eating beef can get a person beaten to death, or while killing a cow in the state of Gujarat earns life imprisonment.

In Which We Direct You To A Most Excellent Writer, For Purposes of Laughing

I’m new here! I am: 1) The interim fiction editor of This Fine Publication, Michigan Quarterly Review. 2) A blogger. For whom do I blog? I blog for thee.

In Which We Direct You To A Most Excellent Writer, For Purposes of Laughing Read More »

I’m new here! I am: 1) The interim fiction editor of This Fine Publication, Michigan Quarterly Review. 2) A blogger. For whom do I blog? I blog for thee.

“The Underground Bird Sanctuary,” by Kuzhali Manickavel

Kumar’s bones were pushing up under his skin like silent hills. His ribs rippled up in hardened waves while his shoulders and wrists stood out in knotted clumps. In the afternoons, I would count Kumar’s bones while he tried to sleep.

“You’re counting the same one twice,” he would mumble without opening his eyes.

“Well it’s poking up in two places. A lot of them are.”

“The Underground Bird Sanctuary,” by Kuzhali Manickavel Read More »

Kumar’s bones were pushing up under his skin like silent hills. His ribs rippled up in hardened waves while his shoulders and wrists stood out in knotted clumps. In the afternoons, I would count Kumar’s bones while he tried to sleep.

“You’re counting the same one twice,” he would mumble without opening his eyes.

“Well it’s poking up in two places. A lot of them are.”

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