I could not blog yesterday, and not just because it was busy with the usual Thanksgiving Day busy-ness. All day, I felt restless and disturbed and had a lump in my throat, watching the news coming out of Mumbai. The last time I felt this way was on Sept. 11, 2001. As I chopped onions and stirred and sauteed, my thoughts were with those whose lives had been shrouded in darkness by the grim deeds of young, babyfaced, ruthless killers. The turkey was delicious and so were the pies, but even as I raised my glass and gave thanks for family, friends and loved ones, that old Bengali saying ran through my mind:
Karur poush maash
Karur shorbonaash
(Some celebrate bountiful harvests, others face annihilation)
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