In 1988, he lay in his own sweat and heat in an empty house in America. His back ached that night when he dreamt of the first time he had come back to India since he had left it. The town had erected a tent outside the movie theater to ask him questions; he was the first to have left Podili for America.
As his fever increased the air around him grew cold. He was no longer the returning son he once was. He remembered the constant ring of the phone in his father’s store that first summer when he had met four possible wives. He knew he could only marry my mother. They both knew the first time they met. I have a picture. They are on the roof and the wind is blowing.
That was the 70’s. In the 80’s the wind is still blowing but the scene has changed. The world is sliding because of the angle of the camera. In the left hand corner is a blue Oldsmobile and my parents are turning on a hill with yellow flowers in New York.
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Sep 30, 09:59 PM