Puja, Charlie, Matthew, Sanjay, Ludmila, and I were at the kids’ table, along with Anil, Sahil, Rupa, Ramesh, Jay (short for Jayenth), and Hema. The aunties and uncles elbowed each other for the best seat at the adult table. Uncle Bharat, Aunty Roma’s husband, said an inaudible, incomprehensible prayer followed by Aunty Roma’s yearly toast: “To very very good friends, family, food.” Clink. Cheers.

Uncle Bharat carved Aunty Roma’s famous curried turkey, stuffed with potatoes. Having grown up on the spicy bird, I found noncurried turkey repelling. Matthew appeared to be an immediate convert while Sanjay grimaced theatrically at the plates of meat. As soon as he was finished carving, Uncle Bharat sat down and fell asleep sitting up amid all the action. Nobody noticed. He did it every year.

“So, you’re a radiologist—that’s sounds really interesting,” Matthew said to Sanjay. “I’m in awe of doctors. You guys have the hardest jobs.”

“No more difficult than clerking for Judge Friedman, that’s for sure,” Sanjay said, grinning and toying with his plate of spinach. Puja was deep in conversation with Ludmila, and Charlie was busy surveying the scene, like a keen tourist.

“Yeah, but the cadavers . . . I just couldn’t do it.” Matthew shook his head. “I’ve always found it amazing that you guys can deal with the gore. I’m way too much of a wimp.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just part of the job. You know—the bodies. We just have to deal with them . . . it’s no big deal,” he lied, vigilantly avoiding eye contact with me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run to the restroom.” I presumed the words cadaver, gore, and bodies necessitated a receptacle.

“Wow—that’s so cool. I wish Heidi and I were in different professions. It must be so interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” I said, smiling.

“So, do you like Charlie?” Puja whispered to me when Ludmila got up from the table. Before I could respond, Puja and I overheard the following: “So, Jay-ENTH, how do you feel as an Indian in the United States?” Charlie was a Helga Friedman protégé.

“It’s Jay. And honestly, I don’t even think about it. I was born and raised in Washington DC and now live in Chicago, where lots of Indians live.” Jay stood up under the guise of wanting more food. “It’s the twenty-first century, man. And you live in New York. Every other person is Indian there.” Jay hit the road. Puja shook her head, annoyed. Sorry, Charlie.