Submission Guidelines.

My writing professor Dr Kirsten. "Research a few magazines," she said.

I click on the drop down menu. 98 literary magazines with corresponding submission guidelines. All asking for the same thing.

Something different. Something unusual. We want to read something new. Surprise us. We don't know what we want. Shock us. Don't give us tired cliches. Words that are fresh and innovative, never seen before. Ironic because how many stories about South Asia have they read.

European colonizers stayed in India for over 400 years.

They destroyed a nation. Massacred a people. Committed genocide. Stole all its riches.

Next, they created the East India Tea Company that amassed untold riches. European slave owners became so rich and slavery was so successful,  their thoughts next turned to Africa. That empire then began the worst chapter in history. America joined in. Brainwashed the brown man so that he worshiped the white man even after he finally left the country centuries later.

Kirsten had requests. "I want to see vibrant, rich stories with emotion, " she said as her brooch glistened against a pale pink silk scarf.

I realized I would have to perfect my craft before attacking so I  found a class on the poetic form with which I was most familiar.  I tried to sign up. Kevin, the event coordinator at the Brockman Literary Institute called back to say the lecture on the impact of the ghazal on 19th Century society was full. He  could add me to the waiting list.

I wanted to share a few words with Kevin. I wanted to say let me get this straight. The ghazal, a poetic format, that your ancestors stole from my people along with jewels, silks, riches and every other piece of my heritage. 

You plundered my inheritance.

Now you claim to have invented golden lattes

My grandma’s haldi and dood thus adulterated.

Your ancestors stole my land. 

You dehumanized an entire Mughal civilization.

Began the slave trade.

Bahamas, Jamaica, Guyana- a path of atrocities.

And yet.

Kevin wanted to help. 

I can put you on the waiting list, he said. There's plenty of space left in the personification class.

An entire generation remained silent about the horrors of partition.

"Put me on the waiting list please Kevin, " I replied.