A teenage boy with a Mohawk sat across from me, sneering. I’d seen that look before. Why was it a problem to knit in public?
“My grandma knits.”
I ignored him.
“So what are you making, Grandma?” Mohawk’s voice was ugly.
I arched my eyebrow. “A cashmere cock ring. Your grandma ever knit one of those?”
The kid’s eyes grew wide, and he suddenly became very interested in a four-year-old issue of Teen Vogue.

The thing I think I'm missing the most is she was so much fun.

Have fun with it and enjoy yourself,

And at the moment of contact, they do not know if the hand that is reaching for theirs belongs to a Hindu or Muslim or Christian or Brahmin or untouchable or whether you were born in this city or arrived only this morning or whether you live in Malabar Hill or New York or Jogeshwari; whether you’re from Bombay or Mumbai or New York. All they know is that you’re trying to get to the city of gold, and that’s enough. Come on board, they say. We’ll adjust.

It's going to be fun, probably pretty rough and hectic,

My teammates are great. It's fun to run with them. I also like the competition - trying to beat the other team.