Mr. and Mrs. Singh left this morning for Mumbai. I had not spoken much to him this past week as I was still grieving the loss of my baby-cat and avoiding any unnecessary conversation that might lead to crying. Yet, he had frequently motioned to me from his porch.
I finally stopped to chat yesterday evening. Mr. Singh said they were leaving for home this morning. It had been "grace" to have me living across the street, he said. There was something about many religions and it didn't matter because there was only one God, or something to that effect. I agreed, it didn't matter. I would have tried to explain the philosophy of the church I attend, but that would be futile, considering our language differences. He said I do good work and that's what matters. Let's hope!
Mrs. Singh stood on the porch, dressed in a sari, and waved. I should visit them in India. Wouldn't that be interesting? Like Julia Roberts, I could eat, pray and love - though I'd probably skip the two-hour meditations.
I will miss seeing Mr. Singh patrolling the streets on his mid-day walks, oblivious to the heat, and sitting in the lotus position on the front porch at dawn. His raucous laughter, which has been the finale to his yoga routine, will be irreplaceable.
I bought a greeting card at Whole Foods with sort of a brown and turquoise paisley motif that looked Indian, embedded with plastic rhinestones. I penned a short note and wedged the card into the crack in the front door, so he'd find it in the morning. I suppose these small gestures affect our personal karma, though I doubt they'll have much impact on globalization and the balance of trade.