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to that Ana Maria.”
    Kiku looked at me and made his eyes wide and laughed his head off. He said, “If you say so, Mum.”
    Whew. It was a close calling.
    By the way, the reason why Ana Maria is a big secret is because Mum wants Kiku to marry an Indian girl. She says if he marries an American girl, she will die of GRIEF and SHAME. She also says I’m not allowed to EVER go on a date EVER and that she will pick out a nice boy for me when it’s time to get married. Kiku and I already have a plan that I will look ugly and act like a wild animal whenever I meet these boys Mum wants me to marry. And when I am seventeen, I will have a secret boyfriend FOR SURE.
    When I was in India and it was just me and Dadi, we had a world map from National Geographic . We would unfold it and count all the mountains and rivers and countries and cities in between us and Mum and Daddy and Kiku. I think about that and I wonder if now Dadi counts alone. It is so sad to be far away from each other. We write Dadi letters, and we call Daddy on the phone, but it is not the same. Sometimes I get so sad that I have to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stand still. It’s like my legs won’t move. All the people keep walking and all the cars keep driving and after a few minutes I know that I have to keep going. I know there is nothing to do but keep going like everybody else in the city. I think that, and then I am able to move again. But some days I worry so much I feel like my head will break into a zillion pieces.
    I don’t know why I just told you all that. Sorry.
    After the storm, Mum and myself wiped down the sills and floor and put the fans in the windows to drag in the cool air from the outside. The air was clean, the buildings were dripping, and the pavement was steaming and smelled like stones. I love the smell of summer pavement after rain. It is funny because Francie in my book also loves that smell. I want to try drinking coffee because she likes it. I think we have a lot in common.
    By the way, I think A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is not girly. I knew a girl in Mussoorie who would not wear her glasses, so she always got bad grades. She said she would rather be pretty than see properly. I think that is girly. But A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is an amazing book for anyone. I am not sure, though. I have never had a friend who is a boy, except for Kiku.
    One more by the way . . . I CAN believe that S. E. Hinton is a girl and that she wrote a book. Girls can do anything.
    August 29, 2008
    It is another day later and I am sitting on the fire escape. The sun is setting and the tops of the buildings look pink and gold. I can hear the couple on the fourth floor fighting. Kiku says they should get a divorce and stop keeping us awake at night.
    You ask a lot of questions, so I think you will be a very good newspaper reporter some day. I have read your letter so many times that I have it memorized. It is good that the Summer Program has ended, because I have lots of time to write to you.
    The red dot you asked about is called a
bindi.
Mum had a laugh that you thought it was Magic Marker. She said to tell you the bindi marks a place of wisdom on the body. It is a decoration, like jewelry. I’ve seen Christian people who wear a cross around their neck. A bindi is the same kind of thing. Mum wears a small one made of felt. It is only as big as the tip of a pencil, and it works like a sticker. It is red because she is married. I wear one during the festival season in October and November, if we go to temple or a party.

    There are some famous white people who like to wear bindis, too, like Madonna and Gwen Stefani. I think it is kind of weird that they do that. Kiku says they are both Italian.
    I have never been asked what I am good at, so I had to think about that question for a long time. I think I am good at reading and noticing things. I am also good at making a bundle of firewood on my back as I walk through the forest. But I cannot do that in New York