Nonfiction | Intersections

Grey Hair and a Bouquet of Red Roses in Delhi’s Airport

The awkward, confusing, beautiful, surprising, untethering experience of reuniting with my father.

“I just don’t know. I don’t even know what I just told you. It doesn’t even seem real to me. I don’t think I’ll see him. I doubt he checks his email.”

  1. Hmmm… don’t I have a father somewhere in India?
  2. Hmmm… don’t I have his email address somewhere?
  3. Hmmmm…. let me try and email him.

But the man in grey pants and a grey jacket with grey hair holding a bouquet of roses covering his face had moved his eyes past me. Ok so it wasn’t him. I walked towards the taxi stand. The man in grey didn’t turn around to watch where I was going.