My sister is here from India, for three days (that’s one hell of a carbon footprint). She loves the rain, the cold, the personal space, the food, the safe driving habits (everything is relative). It’s possible that she’s finding it a bit difficult to adjust to Delhi. She tells me that her friends have been fantastic – writing, calling, sending presents (although her friend L says that nobody is going to visit her unless she starts blogging in a more upbeat tone). Her friend E in Chicago forwards her post to Delhi once a month. He seems like a nice boy, and from Cork too. Apparently his mother thinks she sounds like a nice girl. My sister has pointed out the flaw in my assumptions by reporting the following chat between E and his mother.
Her: Your friend in India sounds like a nice girl.
Him: She is.
Her: Are you thinking of taking her to your sister’s wedding?
Him: Mum, I’m gay.
Her: Are you sure? She sounds like a very nice girl.
Mothers. There’s nothing that a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a nice girl can’t cure.
Oh, and greetings to sis.