In my dream, he was Bihari—-not Nepali. A male fuzzy-faced friend and I were on a quest to find Appy, driving over mountains covered in prayer-flags in the various aisles of the local supermarket. We kept arriving as the last package was flying off the shelf. Disappointed, we sat in the aisle and made ourselves chai. The Bihari pulled out his most prized possession: a picture of his mother. We all touched our foreheads to it in respect. In a glimpse before I passed it back, I realized that... read more
