Last year, Baba and Dadi—my grandparents—visited us in California. They had been there for a few weeks before I arrived. In my own personal tumult just before my first medical licensing exam, I spent what time I could with them.
    Each night, our family of aunts, uncles, and cousins coalesced at my aunt’s house. One evening, Baba sat in his wicker chair in the middle of the room. I sat on the floor next to his legs. We were both quiet, listening to the surrounding chatter. Leaning against him, I felt his arm making lazy circles around his belly. He whispered, “Suppooose this is globe.”
    I looked up at him—“Eh?”
    “When I was in school, I had a math teacher,” he said, stopping his rhythmic motions. “He was very strict. But sometimes, he would turn to us and say, ‘Suppooose this is globe.’” Baba lovingly began to rub his own belly again as he repeated the words.
    By this time, the whole room was listening. We waited for more as he paused.

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