It reminded me a great deal of being in Mashobra and Kerala with sheets of rain and high winds. All that was missing, respectively, were bands of monkeys clutching apples to their gray breasts and howling packs of stray dogs running on a sandy beach near huge waves.
Here it was two, large ornamental dogs, soon wet and dreary, trudging through puddles and over branches four times through the course of the day and night.
The setting provided just the right atmosphere needed to write about the resilience of Indians working in America.
But no curry here, no spices frying.
Just first-rate chicken soup and a blazing fire.
Today’s menu calls for spinach and cheese ravioli and steamed kohlrabi. It’s that kind of day.