In August 1981, after short stops in New York and Pittsburgh visiting old high-school friends, I arrived at Penn State from New Delhi to be...
In August 1981, after short stops in New York and Pittsburgh visiting old high-school friends, I arrived at Penn State from New Delhi to begin a PhD in English. Once settled in my graduate dorm, I visited the English Department to register my arrival and asked Margie, the warm and affectionate administrative assistant, whether I could have the names and phone numbers of the other Indian students in the programme. I could.
Those days, giving out residential phone numbers was not forbidden as it is now. There were two graduate students from India. A third, who had just graduated, I had already met in Delhi. The recent graduate’s cousin was the boyfriend of my close friend, a fine example of the way that two degrees of separation rather than six marks the connections between many Indians. I called both the numbers Margie gave me and left messages, introducing myself and suggesting a meeting.
One never called me back, but Agha Shahid Ali called back immediately. He lived in an efficiency apartment in the same dorm as mine. I offered to come over, but he insisted he would and within minutes he did.
I cannot now recall of what we spoke, but immediately we were...
