A Guardian and a Thief

by Megha Majumdar

Dadu knew he was close—closer than he had ever been—to his own vanishing from earth. It was a matter of time. But perhaps he would live in Mishti’s recollections of the life she had had as a child in this city, a place glorious and abundant in every corner, even in this time of peculiar crisis. He would have contributed to making these years of Mishti’s life a little beautiful. That would be his mode of immortality.

it returned him right away to his boyhood self, which was, though long left behind, not that far away.

a co-worker who said wasn’t it so hurtful to be asked where are you really from, and feeling he had no choice but to agree when he felt he truly wouldn’t mind, not even after decades of living in America, that he would always like the opening to speak about his city. The pride of having immigrated was also, in truth, the wound. Didn’t they understand that? Didn’t they understand that he wanted every opportunity to examine the wound?

At the sink, she washed her face and looked at the mirror. Nobody but Ma could now see, in that face, all the other ages she had been.