When you move from India to the USA to make your life and career, you leave behind your life of over twenty years and learn the American way. I want to use this space to write about my Fourth World Problems. I understand that these words already have several different meanings, but these are my fourth world problems. The ones I inherited from my own third world childhood and the ones I face in my new first world adulthood.
I neither condemn nor condone the division of the world into three (or four, or five). This is not about that. This is about the days of our hilariously ridiculous lives. This is about the days you are at a bar yelling at the TV at an NCAA Elite Eight game, while feeling sudden pangs about your phone call with your Mom last night, when she said there would be no electricity in her house again today. This is about letting the cold water in the shower run for a minute before you step in, all the while remembering the days you’d have to carry water in pots from a truck. This is about third wave feminism from a fourth world perspective.
I write about this often, and you must come back to my blog if you want to read about this.
Here is a fiction series I just started. Thank you for stopping by BerryNice!