Kathmandu, Jan. 11 -- He used to write me emails from his office in an American town where he lived. How odd that I can't even remember where that was. He must have been around my age when he left home at that time. He read Namesake on the bus to work and back, and at work, as he sat at his desk waiting for customers, he said.

When he returned home to Nepal, he handed me a worn-out copy of Namesake and said, "Here, a friend in my loneliness. For you." I would imagine him bobbing on the bus, reading the book. I would picture him sitting on his desk, his eyes watching the deserted stretch of the highway. I can sense that loneliness right now. I've probably inherited it.


I boiled a potato, thinking I might be able to make aloo ko acha...