Published in print by Cream City Review.
Dear Diary,
It’s going to be a mango-less summer. This spring the sun was so strong it killed the tender mango flowers before they could grow into fruit. Another time, I would have complained but this year it’s a relief—for two reasons.
First, in the routine checkup this time, the doctor found my blood glucose levels elevated and reported the numbers to Asif, who called me promptly and said No mithai, no mangoes, for you Abba. So, I’ve given up my favorite sweets. The laddoos, the burfis, and the pedas. I have chai without sugar because my son made me promise so. The maid prepares three servings of chai in the morning. She serves one with breakfast in the bone-china cup—the lone survivor from the set Asif had gifted to Sakina and I on our thirtieth anniversary. The rest, she pours into the thermos Asif brought from Chicago last year.