To Helen, her grandmother's death had been a two-edged tragedy. For the first time, she realized how much she had loved the cantankerous old woman. He... sense of guilt was a tangible, oppressive burden that failed to lighten with time. And her parents' attitude toward her, formerly trusting and permissive, and changed to one of bitterness and suspicion. They had abruptly curtailed her free time and her freedom of choice and movement. What little time the baby left her, they had taken care to see. Her house looked different, hell, it was different. Black cars were parked all around it and inside there was a murmur of activity, nothing like daily life, more like an undercurrent. Voices were muted, conversations stopped as she approached, smiles were suddenly hidden. The house smelled differently, no longer filled with the warm scents of ginger and baking bread, cookies in the oven, a pie cooling on the oven, perhaps popcorn in the microwave. No, it was more like stale coffee, aftershave. Suddenly, I figured out that I didn’t belong. I’m not an American. It felt wrong to stand there and pretend that I am one.”“Of course you’re an American. What are you talking about?”“I’m not a real American. Not like you are. You were born here. Your dad fought in the army. I’m just a visitor. I’m just someone who came to live here for a while. I don’t belong. I don’t even sound like an American.”“You didn’t take me seriously? I was kidding around when I said that. Please tell me I didn’t make. Hum log raat ko kamare ke bahar hi sote the, bere sath janki ka beta sota tha aur uske baju me janki soti thi. Janki aksar mere samane aaise baithati thi ki uska sari ka pallu niche gira huwa hota tha jis se uski chuchion ka ubhar saf nazar aata tha. Janki ka bath room ek kone me tha aur bathroom ka darwaja niche se karib 2 foot uncha tha. Aur aksar jab wo nahakar pesab karti thi tab muze uske bade bade chutad dikhai deti thi. Uski gand ko dekh kar mera lund raj fadak ne lagata tha par uske.
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