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That Which we Call a Rose
My family has always been up in the air. My brother’s name is Ishan,
which means sun which is a joke, because it’s a homophone for son,
and my parents have a strange sense of humor. My dad’s name is
Anil, which means prince of the wind, which is a joke, because his
dad’s name means king of the wind. My mom is full moon which is
a joke, because morning people like her are rarely awake to see it.
And I am heaven, which is the best joke of all. 
It’s quiet up here, unless the sun and moon are having their daily battle for dominance, while the wind watches calmly in the back- ground, and heaven makes a halfhearted attempt at mediation.
II. I tried to write about my mom once, but her name is hard to spell, which you might think is a joke, but allow me to explain. You see, it’s not Mom, it’s Mama. No, not Mama. Mama. Ugh. Okay. Let’s do this phonetically. Muhmuh. That looks strange, ?
Writing is supposed to be fluid, but in a sea of English, Mama is a dam. Damn that subtle difference in pronunciation. The language, the comfort, the years of calling down the stairs from a castle in the clouds.
III. And that’s how I know Shakespeare was wrong.
Divya Goel
Published in Issue 38