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Watching the wedding was a reflection of racing through Chennai; everywhere my attention landed, there was a vibrancy that pulled me into the present. In a red silk sari and white dhoti, heavy flower garlands weighting their necks, the bride and groom offered sacrifices of food and flowers into the holy fire.

When I was a kid and we would visit Nana Chestney, it always meant the Natural History Museum — the greatest in the worst — and a whole hell of a lot of British candy. Being above the legal drinking age, this trip meant pints and a whole hell of a lot of British candy (I would kill and die for Colin the Caterpillar).

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