MUMBAI—The sky is a dull grey today, dimmed by cloud and smoke. It feels cooler than the last time I was out. The thermometer reads 91 degrees and that is some indication of how hot it has been. Feeling stronger, I filled my canteen and strapped Henry to my shoulders, pulled on my fedora and ventured onto the street for the first time in a week.
Back in the U.S., Henry riding high in the Osprey pack is almost always remarked upon.
 Here he a sensation. I have seen people’s jaws fall open at the sight of a bearded gringo coming towards them wearing wrap around Oakleys and a towheaded toddler. Pedestrians stop and stare. Henry obliges them by waving. Girls giggle, boys nudge each other and grin, men hurry to get their wive’s attention or point me out to their children. More than once someone has stopped me and asked to take our picture. I guess turnabout is fair play. I overhear one young man say to another in Hindi, “Look at the little Raja!”
I recognize faces I have seen before, some of the shopkeepers recognize me and wave. I notice more details on the street, more of what shops are selling, that a door leads to the courtyard of a mosque, that there are Hindu temples tucked into alleyways. I hear the chanting of worshipers echo out onto the street above the din of car horns. A woman selling vegetables insists on giving Henry a free tomato. He takes it from her and I can see it in my peripheral vision, held in his outstretched hand. A boy follows us for a while, smiling, speaking words I don’t understand. He seems like he just wants to watch Henry, to walk with us a while. At the corner he touches my son’s foot and disappears.
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