Olympics Opening Day

It is 6:30 in New York a Friday the once-in-a-century day of the 8’s the gala global coming out party to be witnessed by the whole world. I walk down 74th towards DELHI PALACE to get laddu for tomorrow’s puja before it closes because at 7:30 I will be at NAN KING for dinner with strangers to eat garlicky sarsa ka saag with roti. Pomp, pride, wild imagination - images and varied alphabets catch my eye from the newsstands I pass by. I leisurely weave my way through the crowd lively and smiling in colorful woven dress. The warm August evening air is filled with their incomprehensible words echoed in deep melodious voices and their rising sun flags in gold, red, and blue everywhere distract my eyes and thoughts. I stop at the ATM. A long line where Hindi, Urdu, Nepali, Korean, Chinese merge with cranky baby wailings. Finally I retrieve cash, plastic, and receipt then cross over between slowly moving cars weaving in and out of parking spaces in the din of this Asian marketplace. In BOTALA I cool off a bit in the incensed air by shelves of yoga, Vedic and other wisdom and see the eyes of my three young students comprehending “I miss my family…” heartfelt full of hope undaunted by treacherous Himalayan journeys.