Author Archives: Kris

The NRA Tackles the Nuclear Issue

Mushroom cloud over Nagasaki

There’s been a lot of talk about nuclear weapons in the news lately. That nuclear weapons are the problem. You know, I grew up around nuclear weapons, and not once have I ever seen a nuclear weapon arm itself, load its payload into a ballistic missile, and fire itself at an unsuspecting city.

It takes two people to turn the little keys around their necks in two locks at the same time, open the protective covering, and push that little . . .

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For Posterity

Thanks, Madhurima, for the great pic!

My son is an absolute joy.

He creates joy. And shares it. Maybe not on purpose (he’ll snatch a tea biscuit from my hands, even when he already has one in his other hand). But joy radiates out from him into the room.

OK, that’s a bit sappy. I am his Baba after all, and he my little “nom-ti-nom,” so I could be biased. But I don’t think so.

There are some things he’s doing now that I’m going to write down so I don’t forget them. Or rather, I . . .

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Day Father vs. Night Father

As a very-new father (my son Kunal, pictured here, is two weeks old), I’ve decided to adopt different parenting styles depending on the time of day.

If the sun is shining (and I wasn’t awake to see it rise), I change Kunal’s diaper with a silly song I just made up. When he cries, I say “Ohhhhh nonononono,” and give him little kisses on his forehead. I talk to him with a lot of baby talk and smiles, and there is . . .

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What I Learned From My Dad

Dad in Austrailia

My dad died of cancer in February. He was 75. Since then I’ve been thinking about him a lot, and what I learned from him.

My wife Pulao and I each take out a small amount of cash every week just to spend on ourselves. My mother-in-law once asked me: “What do you spend yours on?”

“Drinks maybe,” I said. “Shooting pool, going to a casino.”

“Oh,” she said. “All bad things.”

I learned all my bad things from . . .

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If You Believe There’s a Line on the Moon

My cab driver tried to convert me to Islam the other day, on the way from Oak Park to O’Hare.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that if my own mother couldn’t convert me back to Catholicism, the religion into which I was born and raised, that a non-relative had little chance of converting me to a religion that I know very little about—a conversion that I suspect, also, would piss off my Catholic family and Hindu in-laws equally.

Not that I’m against Islam. If I had to rank the religions of the world (a noncontroversial pass-time we . . .

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