By Rekha Rajgopal
Coffee in hand, I watched the flag. As always, it raised questions. Who am I? Where do I belong? Where does my allegiance lie?
I came to this land to carve a life for myself. With time, I blended in. Except when a flag sighting causes the routine, existential flutter in my heart.
It feels like being torn between a biological and a foster mother. The former gave me life, the latter shaped it.
As always, I tell myself it’s all good. That the two can coexist. That being with one did not mean I did not love the other.
“I write because it thrills each time my brain dredges up something new.” – the writer