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Naina visited Delhi in the hot month of June to attend Mumma’s first death anniversary, and to shop for her wedding. “I didn’t want my mom or Josh or anyone on this trip. This is my time with you, Ahana.”
Naina was shoulder-height to me, and we often joked that half her body was brains, and the other half was belly. Forever dressed in denim jeans, tank top, and a light shirt or jacket, she loved food, and food loved her back. Every time I asked her to exercise, she would say, “I’m an all-American girl, Ahana. I love my food, and I love me some beer.”
I took the week off to spend time with Naina. We went all over the city—from kebabs in Old Delhi to ice cream in Connaught Place to papri chaat in Khan Market. Naina would first eat a bowl of the plain, crisp fried dough wafers, papr
