“Onions, onions, why didn’t I think of onions,” he said, shaking his head sadly, pronouncing the “o” with an “oh” and sculpting onions in the air. They wrapped my thumb with a thick wad of bandage, which I quickly drenched in saliva and dislodged. I, Bubbly, was the daughter Billo and Randy had hoped for, born in the unlikely setting of a canvas tent. A thoroughbred city girl, born across the Indian border in Lahore in Pakistan, farming was not a part of her reality. Excerpted with permission from I in the Sky: A Chandigarh Chronicle, Neel Kamal Puri, Speaking Tiger Books.