It was a cold February day, and the first time in my short two and a half years of life that I felt that cold. I had been living in Bangalore up until then, where the temperature never dipped below a balmy 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Outside of Washington DC's Dulles International Airport, however, the temperature was so cold that day that I still remember freezing. That was 45 years ago. And we had no coats. What else happened that day I was told later was that my parents lost their bag with all our passports and money in it and so we arrived in the US not only freezing to death but dead broke. Somehow my dad called his Ambassador friend Dr. Jaganath, and he and his gracious wife came to the airport and brought us to their beautiful home and fed and took care of us until we got back on our feet. Legend has it that I was a rambunctious and mischievous 2 and a half year old and I spilled kum kum all over their beautiful clean white carpet. I understand that my bubbly personality allowed all the adults to laugh about this incident shortly thereafter. Suju, my older sister by 2 and a half years, and I would then face life as immigrant kids in the 70s together. It made us very close.