the taj mahal was

her playground.

and i couldn’t

have been more thrilled

to see the smile

on her face,

as she ran

around, screaming

for joy.

we

walked here,

in the same place

you now stand,

through a uttar pradeshian summer,

the two of

us,

hand-in-hand until

we could no longer.

still we walked

near one another,

separated by it,

yet kept close

because of it.

we learned about this

place, hearing how it

and a lack of water

drove them

from here.

we both understood

then, why otherwise

rational human beings

would leave behind

years of hard work and

forgo such beauty;

it was the same

reason we let go

of one another.

the wind

blowing in from

the desert,

bringing with it

that heat…

heat that feels

like a

hair dryer blowing in

your face while

you stand in

a sauna.

but today,

we, you and me,

we stand here.

summer is

over, and that heat,

that heat

is gone.

but i can still

feel it,

and it is

something i’ll revel

in until i can

no longer feel.

and you.

you feel her.

i’m sure of it,

because i can

see her in

you.

the smile on

your face,

the way you

hold my hand,

and the way you

let it go…

so walk where

we walked,

stand where

she stood

and together,

we will feel

something.

i’ve mentioned a few

times, some of

the reasons why

we’re here.

and though you

may be a little

too young to

remember everything

that you’re seeing

and doing,

this is still an

invaluable trip for

you.

you’re taking things in.

you’re learning.

you’re discovering.

and you’re here

with me.

in a place i

need to be,

helping me.

so yeah.

i guess you could

say that this

trip is mostly

for me,

your selfish father,

and that’s kinda true.

i needed this,

and i needed it

at this time,

and i needed

you.

but…

we will

come back here,

as often as

you want,

as you grow up,

when you can

take a break

from your busy

teenage and adult lives

(i don’t want to get in the way).

’cause there’s no

such thing as

a once in

a lifetime trip.

and that’s the

beauty of this.

we have the rest

of our lives

to visit and revisit,

and we’ll do it

so you can

feel what i feel,

so i can

feel what you feel.

so we.

so we can feel

what we felt,

before this

we existed.

that’s my pledge to

you.

so this trip?

what are we

doing? well, that’s

best summarized

by the words

of d.b.

“i remember her

and i remember him

i remember them

i remember then

i’m just rememberin’

i’m just rememberin’

just rememberin’

i’m just rememberin’”

so the other night

we to dinner at

your mom’s favorite

restaurant in bangalore.

a fancy vietnamese

place at an

even fancier hotel.

she

used to hang

out here

while she waited

for me to

finish my work day.

it was nice

to walk in

that night, and

see another reminder

of her…

her favorite flowers.

they were the

flowers she chose

for our wedding.

i can still

smell them

when i think

of that day.

and she used to

buy them from the

farmer’s market every week,

and bring them

home to make our

place look less

like a record store

and more like

a place someone

called home.

she loved the way

they looked,

and especially the

way they smelled.

and so did i.

funny thing is…

i am so damn

allergic to those flowers.

i dealt with

them, ’cause i knew

how much

she

loved them.

but believe me,

i complained about

them every chance

i got.

this was a

fun day.

you were tired,

and maybe just

a little unreasonable.

so i picked you

up and dropped

you into a

beanbag chair to

try to

make you laugh.

it worked.

you made me

do it like, 500 times.

so many times,

in fact,

that my back

started hurt.

that day reaffirmed

one thing…

you are a

lot of fun.

and that day

helped me

realize something else…

i am

an old,

old man.

i sit here,

where i write

each day,

at the end of the day,

waiting for

my best girl,

(with the help of her nanny),

to find her way

across town and

into my arms.

as i sit,

the sun, it disappears…

it doesn’t

so much as set

here as it gets

enveloped by

the smoke that seems

to rise from the

city at all times

of the day.

the mosquitoes are

on their way,

trying to find

a patch of exposed skin,

before the guy

in gray covers

the grounds in a

thick and lethal fog that

looks like the sky

above, but smells

infinitely worse.

i try to read

more writing from

a far better

writer, but even

his words can’t

keep my attention…

because i know

you’ll soon

be coming through

those doors.

up you go,

toward heights

unimagined 19 months ago.

you and me

both, kid.

a pretty cynical guy.

(just look at my t-shirt)

but for you

i do some

ridiculous shit.

i mean, look

at me in this photo.

you made me

put on that

hat, then when it

was time for a

photo, you took

your hat off,

leaving me to

look foolish

while you laughed

in my face.

glad to see

you also got your

mom’s sense of humor.

back at home

you throw apples.

here in your

temporary home,

you throw sticks.

mostly into the

koi pond at the

place where

i spend my

days writing.

you will have

to unlearn

this behavior when

we get back

to los angeles,

’cause i don’t have

anyone to clean

our pond like

they do at

the oberoi.

but you love it

so much,

so maybe,

just maybe

i’ll let you

continue your behavior

and i’ll clean

the pond myself.

that time we

traveled to india?

and celebrated

diwali with our friends?

yeah.

that was awesome.