When I call my Auntie Balbir “Machiavellian,” I mean it as a compliment. A slight Punjabi woman, she took care of my siblings and me during our parents’ erratic work hours. Her tight bun, sharp eye, and precise, commanding manner quickly inspired in us a respect for household rules and a fear of the time-out corner.     Escaping from communal riots in India following the assassination of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, Auntie B. arrived in America as a refugee. Fortuna placed...

You might say a love of history is in my DNA. Or, perhaps, a love of DNA is in my history. With dreams of becoming a scientific researcher, I spent my high school summers conducting molecular biological and bioinformatics research. Years of mastering the scientific method seemed unhelpful, though, for my newest challenge: a college-level American history course with a well-known, demanding teacher. I thought that determining antibiotic sensitivity wouldn’t help me understand Reconstruction any more than my work...

20 stories. 25 pictures. 8 pages. The basic materials I have to work with. These appear in my inbox after rounds of editing and review and then I take the last step and put together the final product. The newspaper is a blank canvas until I let my creativity takeover. As I decide on themes and format, I delight in the puzzle-like, detective nature of creating the layout of the newspaper and writing stories of the unknown. The story on the midterm elections...

I grabbed my cherry-scented marker and carefully drew out an A- in large, bubble letters under the category “Sweet Tooth”. (There had been a suspicious lack of butter cookies this holiday season, resulting in a lower grade for my mother). I was following my yearly tradition: “polished” input and advice from the eldest child, in the form of The “Rough and Tough” Family Report Card. Highly concerned with the particulars of running the household or who chose the weekly family...