* * *

“His name is Guru Brahmananda.” Jaya proudly showed Karina his framed portrait, adorned with a fresh floral garland, in the mandir room.

“He looks like Dev Uncle,” Karina responded.

Jaya squinted at the portrait, trying to spot any resemblance to her brother. Other than graying hair and their approximate ages, she could see nothing in common. Did all older Indian men look the same to her daughter? It troubled Jaya that their families saw each other so infrequently, given the distance and schedules. Their children had only met twice before Prem had died; the cousins were little more than acquaintances with foreign accents. Jaya pushed aside that disturbing thought.

“I wish you’d been here when he came through to give his lectures,” she said. “He is so wise. And the way he puts his ideas into words . . . It’s like poetry, so beautiful. I went for five days and never got bored or uncomfortable, even sitting cross-legged on the hard floor. There’s just something . . . peaceful about hearing him speak.” Jaya smiled broadly, remembering that first magical experience, which had since been replicated in four more cities to which she’d traveled to see the Guru speak. How could she explain it? His talks were so moving because he didn’t preach but used the power of personal stories to transform. “I have some CDs, if you want—”

“Mom!” Karina said, peering closer at Jaya’s face. “What happened to your tooth?” She pointed to her own cheek.

“Oh, that,” Jaya said, waving it off. “One of my molars was causing so much pain, the dentist took it out a few weeks ago.”

“But . . . what?” Karina became very animated now, waving her arms around. “Took it out? Can’t you get it replaced? You can’t just walk around with a big hole in your mouth!”

Jaya smiled, not understanding why Karina seemed so upset about such a little thing. She waved her concern away. “It doesn’t bother me, so who cares?” She would have liked to help her daughter see that those things she concerned herself with—branded clothes, expensive mascara, that blue lampshade for her new apartment—none of that mattered. But Jaya had learned that they were each on their own spiritual journey in this life, and she couldn’t push Karina to be receptive to her ideas any more than Keith could push Jaya. She had to meet Karina where she was, to find some common ground with her daughter as she grew older and further away.

“Come,” Jaya said, taking Karina’s hand and walking her out of the mandir room. “Come see the box of tulip bulbs I got at Costco. Maybe we can plant them tomorrow.”

* * *

A few days later, Karina made an excuse to drive back to campus early to register for some new classes. She found it hard to believe that Mom once worked as a policy analyst, evaluating research studies and analyzing data; she seemed almost gullible now. It still struck a nerve, the feeling that her mom was indifferent to her, as if her parental concern was a finite resource that had been fully drained by Prem. But Karina had come to rely on her mother’s credulity; it facilitated Karina’s independence, so she did not question it.