SIX
July 1995
New York
“This one ends badly.”
I turned around to see who had the unknown voice with the familiar accent. A man in an olive crewneck T-shirt stood watching me with a smug smile on his face. He seemed to be from some part of South Asia. I had arrived from Karachi to visit Uncle Rizvi because I was particularly restive that summer and yearning for a change of environment. Sensing that, Abu had suggested the trip as a twentieth birthday present. I saw no reason to decline such a tempting offer. I was particularly close to my uncle because of shared interests in art. That summer, Uncle Rizvi had accepted a job as a pediatric surgeon in Houston at the Children’s Hospital and was moving in a few weeks. One reason for my visit was also to assist their family in packing and to
