Dzhokhar and Sikkim
We could not have asked for a more terrible re-entry to the U.S. from Sikkim. We watched the search for Dzhokhar on TV with horror and fascination, as though we were watching an extended episode of Homeland, but the action was real; people were in danger. A friend of mine taught Dzhokhar in high school. Franklin Street, where they found him, is right off Mount Auburn Street, not far from Mount Auburn Cemetery, where my grandparents are buried, and very near the little place where we get Lebanese food. I go to a yoga class just a few miles away in Arlington.
Then, a Sikkimese friend sent me pictures of our visit. Here I am in the Himalayas reading a poem. I wrote for the school. Here are the students writing during my visit. If you look closely, you can see my son. Here is my friend Chris talking to the third grade teacher. Here are two monks during a Puja, or prayer meeting. Here are students, greeting me and my son, and the flower offerings that the monks made for the Puja. The last picture, the child with the hula hoop, seems most foreign of all. Were we really there? Were we really in such a peaceful world?