So in my new paisley salwar kameez, with matching navy dupatta scarf draped over my head and a pair of dark Ray-Bans disguising my stormy gray peepers, I took to the streets of the Pahar Ganj. I was barely noticed as I went to an Internet cafe to email my sister.

Dear Brooke,

I hope you are doing well. Just a quick note to let you know that I am fine. Yesterday’s events were horrifying, and I can only imagine what my fellow Americans are going through right now. But since I can’t get home (with all the airports shut down), and since I did come here for a reason, I’ve decided to carry on. I’m leaving today for Rajasthan. I really do hope you can forgive me for this mess that I’ve made. I didn’t feel like I had any other option. If you talk to Warren, which I’m sure you will, please give him and the girls my love. I miss them terribly. Sorry this note is short, but if I keep it up, I’m going to lose it. I’ll write again soon.

Love, Karma

Regaining my composure, I logged off the computer and paid the woman at the counter. She had vermilion kum-kum in the part of her hair and a red bindi between her eyebrows, signifying that she was married. She smiled and asked if I was troubled. Boy, that was putting it mildly. But of course, I told her no. I really didn’t want things to be this way. To be away from my husband and children. I wondered what that woman would have thought, had I told her the truth. It would be a disgrace for an Indian woman to leave her family to go alone to a strange country. Would I even be able to confide such a deed to my fellow travelers? Or would this trip continue to be a lonely one? Just me and Mother? Oh, and not to forget Babaji, though I must admit, I was trying hard to do so. It was still unfathomable to me, seeing him in the flesh. Scared me to death, really. I don’t know why. Surely it would’ve been worse had Mother appeared to me.

“Oh, good God,” I laughed. “Don’t even think such a thing.” I stopped to buy some chocolate. I was taking no chances. By the time I returned to my room, it was 8 a.m.

“All right, Babaji. I’m ready to accept the fact that I can see you now,” I said, as if expecting him to miraculously appear before me. “I can deal with it. Oh, and I have some chocolate for you,” I coaxed, as if I were calling a child or pet. It felt very undignified. Disrespectful, almost. I’d never requested a darshan with Babaji before. He’d always just been there when I’d needed him. I was just about to zip my pack when I noticed that the chocolate was missing from the table. I spun around. He was sitting there, cross-legged in the corner, bare-chested and wearing the white dhoti as before, with his eyes closed. He didn’t move. Neither did I. Minutes passed before I found the courage to sit down on the corner of the bed. It made an irritating squeaking sound, and I cringed.