Traversing this existence to the extent that we know it,
Mom and Appa yield no little ground
In venturing outward upon our human lair.
Converging together like two untethered train cars designed to fit amicably as one,
They merged their solitary lives and coupled their familial broods,
Becoming a pioneering “East meets West” family.
Jolly, sometimes raucous, ever faithful and often gracious,
They combined Paprika with Lasagna,
And created a spicy flare for the American fare, and for its way of life.
Not knowing any better, Appa permitted Mom
To drag him along haplessly to far corners of California
With nothing else but a sleeping bag and a Coleman stove.
Surely this must be the American dream
So boldly advertised in the modern Mumbai magazines?
Mom, on the other hand,
Dealt gracefully with using her hands as her new-found eating utensils
And later, led lovingly by her regally-oriented husband,
Had her “dream house” built literally upon the rock —
Not to be shaken later by regular absence with visits across the Earth to the “homeland”.
Instead, the rock became the hotel, a steady next egg it,
And their love nestled high above,
Closer to the tops of the coconut trees — from which they glean the pure and healthy liquid,
Whilst partaking in the abundant relaxation of their well-deserved massages.
Yes, color took on another hue
By the merging of these two,
And life’s grand drama,
Reached another nobly enjoyable crescendo
In the acting out of the union
Between Mom and Appa.