Yellow Squash And Peppers

2029. Priya became pharmacy director at the outpatient clinic in New Brunswick. The promotion she'd been building toward for a decade — overseeing medication programs for underserved communities, managing a team of pharmacists, the administrative work that is less fun than patient care but more impactful. The prescription assistance program she created became a regional model — three other clinics adopted it. Uninsured patients accessing medications. The pharmacist's version of Amma's generosity: here, take this, you need it. Anaya, twelve, started middle school. She's quiet, studious, anxious in ways I recognize. The stomach-churning, can't-sleep kind. I see myself in her — the good daughter, the performer, the girl who manages everything internally. I did something Amma never did: I talked about it. 'Kanna, are you anxious? Because I was anxious at your age and I didn't tell anyone and I should have.' She looked at me. 'How did you know?' 'Because I'm your mother and I watch you the way I watch the sambar — carefully, for signs.' She laughed. Then she said: 'Can I talk to someone? Like you talk to Dr. Mehta?' Yes. YES. The cycle of silence, broken. The thing Amma said they didn't have — anxiety — acknowledged by the granddaughter, addressed by the mother, treated by a professional. I found her a therapist. Dr. Kim, Korean-American, specializes in teens. Anaya started sessions in October. Amma would not understand this. Amma would say 'we don't have anxiety.' But Amma was wrong about that. And being wrong about one thing doesn't make you wrong about everything. The sambar was right. The anxiety was wrong. I made pepper rasam — the clearing kind. For both of us.

The small CVS-pharmacist-role at the small Edison location continues to be the small career-spine. The small forty-hour-week schedule with the small alternating-weekend rotation is the small income-and-rhythm-anchor. The small fifteen-years-of-pharmacist-experience are the small professional-credential the small career rests on.

Raj Patel (the small husband) works in the small IT-consulting field. The small Manhattan-commute on the small NJ Transit train is the small daily-Monday-through-Thursday routine. The small Friday-work-from-home arrangement is the small workweek-anchor. The small Raj-Priya partnership has been the small two-career-with-kids juggle for the small parenthood-years.

The small Edison Indian-American community is the small social-network. The small Hindu temple in Bridgewater is the small Sunday-morning gathering. The small Diwali-Holi-Navaratri-Pongal calendar continues to mark the small year. The small extended-family-dinners with the small Krishnamurthy-cousins are the small monthly-rotation.

Anaya is eight, Rohan is five. The small Patel-Krishnamurthy-kids occupy the small Edison-suburb home with the small two-parent-Indian-American-family-stability. Anaya is at the small elementary-school in second grade. Rohan is at the small preschool. The small kid-rhythm is the small daily-organizing-principle.

The small Indian-American cooking-identity is the small kitchen-spine. The small Indian-classics (dal, sabzi, roti, biryani) are the small weekday-staples. The small American-fusion-experiments are the small Sunday-projects. The small grandmother-recipes from Hyderabad (Priya’s maternal-side) and from Chennai (Priya’s paternal-side) are the small heritage-touchstones.

The small Hyderabad-and-Chennai-grandparents continue to visit on the small annual-rotation. Naani (Priya’s maternal grandmother, age 84) flies in for the small October-through-December stretch. The small Christmas in Edison has the small grandparents-and-extended-family in residence for weeks. The small intergenerational-kitchen is the small November-December-rhythm.

Pepper rasam was what Amma would have made — and I did think of it — but what I actually pulled together that evening, after Anaya said yes to therapy and I said yes to the moment, was something simpler and brighter: yellow squash and peppers, sautéed until soft and a little sweet, with enough heat to clear the air. The peppers mattered. They always do in Tamil cooking — not to punish, but to open things up, to move something through you. That’s what the day called for. Something that felt like clearing without requiring me to explain why I was crying while I cooked.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 medium yellow squash, sliced into 1/4-inch half-moons
1 red bell pepper, seeded and sliced into thin strips
1 green bell pepper, seeded and sliced into thin strips
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (adjust to taste)
1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning or fresh thyme leaves
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Instructions

Prep the vegetables. Wash and dry the yellow squash and bell peppers. Slice the squash into 1/4-inch half-moons and cut the peppers into thin, even strips so everything cooks at the same rate.
Heat the pan. Warm the olive oil in a large skillet or sauté pan over medium-high heat until it shimmers, about 1 minute.
Start with the peppers. Add the red and green bell pepper strips to the hot oil. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 4–5 minutes until the peppers begin to soften and pick up a little color at the edges.
Add the squash and aromatics. Add the sliced yellow squash, minced garlic, and red pepper flakes to the pan. Stir to combine. Cook for another 7–8 minutes, stirring every couple of minutes, until the squash is tender and lightly golden.
Season and finish. Sprinkle in the salt, black pepper, and Italian seasoning. Toss everything together and cook for 1 more minute. Remove from heat and drizzle with fresh lemon juice.
Taste and serve. Adjust salt and pepper as needed. Serve warm as a side dish alongside rice, dal, grilled protein, or flatbread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Yellow Squash And Peppers — The Clearing Kind, For Both of Us