I sit writing this just before I sleep at my Grandpa’s house, the last time I’ll stay the night there. And I remember fondly the first time I ever did — as a five-year-old who was so traumatized by the mosquito nets hanging over my grandparents’ four-poster bed, that my dad had to come pick me up from across town in the middle of the night and take me back home.
After that blip, however, it was a lovely journey. My granddad, Homi Dastoor (pictured), was, as so many of his old friends, family, and more recent admirers of his......