Nimisha Ladva

I grew up in England, the daughter of Indian immigrants.

The spring that I turn 11, there is violence in Brixton.

It's an area of London.

Skinheads, police, and dark-skinned people, some who look like me, are clashing.

On TV, there are images of things on fire.

My father talks to my brother and me and says, there's nothing for us to worry about.

We don't live near the violence.

We don't live near any skinheads.

And we should just carry on doing what we do and being who we are.

So one of the things we are is vegetarian Hindus.

So when bugs get into our house, we don't kill them, we take them outside.

So that spring, a gigantic wasp gets into the house.

The stinger is visible to the naked eye.

My mother rolls up a newspaper, asks God for forgiveness.

and then does what she has to do.

She hands the weapon to my father.

But my dad does not take it.

He walks up to the window where the wasp is and with his bare hands cups them around the wasp and walks outside and simply lets it free.

Then he turns to me and my brother and says,

I'm your father.