So thank you Shiv Sena and Bal Thackery and the whole right-wing, fascistic, cretinous gang of Hindu thugs and goondas, I gratefully acknowledge you at this point. At least you were there for me when I needed you. There was no chance that Geeta’s daddy-ji, even with all the resources and connections at his command, would ever go public with our case given the affront to Hindu culture and religion that our sexual preference and lifestyle represented to the xenophobic zealots. No chance that he would ever take the risk, personal and financial, of fighting in open court for custody, never mind that he is your own grandpa (adoptive, admittedly, but even so—behold the limits of his commitment and take heed). No chance that he would ever have allowed the sordid details to be laid out for the entire hungry population of one billion plus to gawk at and gorge upon and regurgitate in an invigorating after-dinner riot. Two women copulating, two women consecrating, two women cohabiting, two women co-parenting—explain that to the Sena boys. Such abominations do not happen in Hindustan, they never were and never have been and never will be. In no way would your grandfather have risked discharging all of these delectable family secrets into the Indian mosh pit—too much information, extremely bad for property and personal health. I pause here to note, Maya, that as soon as Geeta left us for good, I took pains to go through the official bureaucratic channels to change our company’s name to M&M Sati Trips. For you, Maya, you and me, melted together, like the candy, our two M’s conjoined forever by the stigmata of the ampersand, inseparable.