stone wall.
I peered up the steps. It was pitch black up there and smelled like bats.
“I’m not sure we’re supposed…”
But Dad had already started climbing. He had to use his hands, the steps were so steep. “Come on, Chloe,” he called back to me from the dark. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
When I came out at the top of the stairs, Dad was standing right at the edge of the high stone wall, gazing out over the view. The mausoleum spread before us. Its walls, made of sandstone, glowed pink in the setting sun.
I had to admit, it was seriously beautiful.
Dad pointed. A little farther along the wall, a group of peacocks were strutting around, eyeing us warily. They were so close I could see the tops of their blue crowns bobbing up and down and the iridescent eyes on the ends of their tail feathers glimmering.
We sat there for almost an hour, Dad and me, legs dangling off the side of the stone wall, listening to the prayers and watching the peacocks strut. A group of ladies sat in a loose circle in the garden below, their jewel-colored saris fanned out around them on the grass. When the wind stirred the trees, flowers showered down on them, which made the ladies turn their faces up and laugh.
As the sun dimmed, the reflecting pools in the garden around the mausoleum turned silver. The moon rose in the darkening sky. The peacocks meowed.
I’m not kidding: it was like a real-life fairy tale.
Before we knew it, a guard was walking through the grounds, waving people toward the exit.
Dad held my hand on the way out. We hadn’t done that in a while, but it didn’t bother me a bit.
The same guide was still there, leaning against the wall by the exit, a clay cup of chai in his hands. He grinned at us amicably.
“I tell you it most beauteous monument. Now you believe me,
na?
Next time you take guide.”
In the car, on the way home, Dad put his arm around my shoulder and I leaned into him, my head resting against his chest. We didn’t need to talk.
“So, how was it?” Mom asked when we walked in.
“It was great.” I smiled. “It was really great.”
That night after dinner, Dad arranged a Skype date for me with Katie. It took a long time to get everything set up, so I was kind of amazed when Katie’s face finally floated up on the iPad. She looked different on-screen. Her nose was bigger and her skin seemed really pale; her freckles stood out like polka dots. It was morning there, so she was still in her pj’s. I had already finished my whole day.
“Oh my God, how are you?” Katie said. “How’s India?”
My mind went blank.
How’s India?
How was I supposed to answer that?
I looked out the window at the park across the street, baking in the night heat.
“Um, it’s hot,” I said. “It’s really, really hot.”
“Oh.” Katie sounded disappointed, sort of like,
Really, is that the best you could come up with?
“But is it cool?” Katie said. “Not cool like temperature—cool like interesting?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s definitely interesting.”
I thought about telling her about Humayun’s Tomb—about sitting on the wall with Dad, watching the sun set over the gardens—but the words didn’t come.
I searched my brain. What was there to say? I mean, how could I explain India? How could I explain the whole place? Everything in Delhi was the opposite of Boston—the heat and the smells and the noises and the colors and the tastes. Everything was totally different.
“There was a snake charmer in the park the other day,” I ventured.
“Really?” Katie said. “Oh my God, that’s so cool! Did you touch a snake?”
“Um, no,” I said. (I had only seen the guy from the living room window. Dechen had pointed him out. He was napping on a park bench, his basket of snakes beside him.)
“Oh,” she said. “Still.”
“Yeah,” I said.
There was a long pause.
“There are lots of cows on the streets,” I said. “And sometimes we see monkeys.”
“Wow! Do
I peered up the steps. It was pitch black up there and smelled like bats.
“I’m not sure we’re supposed…”
But Dad had already started climbing. He had to use his hands, the steps were so steep. “Come on, Chloe,” he called back to me from the dark. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
When I came out at the top of the stairs, Dad was standing right at the edge of the high stone wall, gazing out over the view. The mausoleum spread before us. Its walls, made of sandstone, glowed pink in the setting sun.
I had to admit, it was seriously beautiful.
Dad pointed. A little farther along the wall, a group of peacocks were strutting around, eyeing us warily. They were so close I could see the tops of their blue crowns bobbing up and down and the iridescent eyes on the ends of their tail feathers glimmering.
We sat there for almost an hour, Dad and me, legs dangling off the side of the stone wall, listening to the prayers and watching the peacocks strut. A group of ladies sat in a loose circle in the garden below, their jewel-colored saris fanned out around them on the grass. When the wind stirred the trees, flowers showered down on them, which made the ladies turn their faces up and laugh.
As the sun dimmed, the reflecting pools in the garden around the mausoleum turned silver. The moon rose in the darkening sky. The peacocks meowed.
I’m not kidding: it was like a real-life fairy tale.
Before we knew it, a guard was walking through the grounds, waving people toward the exit.
Dad held my hand on the way out. We hadn’t done that in a while, but it didn’t bother me a bit.
The same guide was still there, leaning against the wall by the exit, a clay cup of chai in his hands. He grinned at us amicably.
“I tell you it most beauteous monument. Now you believe me,
na?
Next time you take guide.”
In the car, on the way home, Dad put his arm around my shoulder and I leaned into him, my head resting against his chest. We didn’t need to talk.
“So, how was it?” Mom asked when we walked in.
“It was great.” I smiled. “It was really great.”
That night after dinner, Dad arranged a Skype date for me with Katie. It took a long time to get everything set up, so I was kind of amazed when Katie’s face finally floated up on the iPad. She looked different on-screen. Her nose was bigger and her skin seemed really pale; her freckles stood out like polka dots. It was morning there, so she was still in her pj’s. I had already finished my whole day.
“Oh my God, how are you?” Katie said. “How’s India?”
My mind went blank.
How’s India?
How was I supposed to answer that?
I looked out the window at the park across the street, baking in the night heat.
“Um, it’s hot,” I said. “It’s really, really hot.”
“Oh.” Katie sounded disappointed, sort of like,
Really, is that the best you could come up with?
“But is it cool?” Katie said. “Not cool like temperature—cool like interesting?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s definitely interesting.”
I thought about telling her about Humayun’s Tomb—about sitting on the wall with Dad, watching the sun set over the gardens—but the words didn’t come.
I searched my brain. What was there to say? I mean, how could I explain India? How could I explain the whole place? Everything in Delhi was the opposite of Boston—the heat and the smells and the noises and the colors and the tastes. Everything was totally different.
“There was a snake charmer in the park the other day,” I ventured.
“Really?” Katie said. “Oh my God, that’s so cool! Did you touch a snake?”
“Um, no,” I said. (I had only seen the guy from the living room window. Dechen had pointed him out. He was napping on a park bench, his basket of snakes beside him.)
“Oh,” she said. “Still.”
“Yeah,” I said.
There was a long pause.
“There are lots of cows on the streets,” I said. “And sometimes we see monkeys.”
“Wow! Do
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