Mr Dev, a man of fifty-something, with an incorrigibly romantic heart and strange notions about the land of Uncle Sam – which he has picked up from his stray reading of books from or about America - gets a chance to visit USA. Being a bumbling type and having little understanding of the rules of life in the West, he blunders, fumbles, stumbles and finds himself frequently caught in funny situations, one after the other. Frequently mistaking the American way of life for what it is not, he makes a complete fool of himself. This is the fictionalized real-life account of an Indian who stares, gawk-like with his mouth agape at a world which to his Indian sensibility is confusing and perplexing but replete with doubtful promises of a romantic/ erotic kind. Not having much understanding of how to behave in a new country, he sometimes comes in for mild but cold disapproval at the hands of his American hosts. His bewilderment ends only with his taking his flight back home on Air India flight. Mr Dev was pleasantly surprised when on his first morning walk on the pavement of Rocky Hill the beautiful American blonde bowed to him in respect. Surprised because he didn't understand this gesture from a total stranger; pleasantly, because the person who bowed to him in his walks was a pretty blonde. Came the next morning and he saw her coming from the opposite direction. She bowed to him.Mr Dev was still at a loss because back in India women, young or not so young, pretty or not so pretty, didn't bow to stranger males. Fantasy took over. “May be the blonde was carried away by my handsome looks!” thought Mr Dev. When young he loved to spend time before the mirror as if asking it, “Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the most handsome male of all?” The mirror, as mirrors always do, returned the answer that Mr Dev wanted to hear. He no longer spent time before the mirror now. The double chin, the pockets under the eyes, the creases under the mouth and above all the grey head made him fear the mirror and he always ran the mandatory comb through his hair, quickly. Self-knowledge is a horrible thing. One may have it - even if in glimpses - but one wishes to forget it. That pretty American twenty-something on the Rocky Hill pavement on the mornings had made him forget self-knowledge. However, his better sense made him suspect that there was more to it than his looks. He decided to share this experience with his son. The young man who had been living in America for some time told him that it was a perfectly natural thing for Americans to greet perfect strangers in their country. Plus, Americans were deferential to age. Mr Dev was crestfallen, “So it was my grey hair that made the blonde bow!” He regretted why he had not dyed his hair before coming to Connecticut. He had never used dye himself. He got his hair dyed back in India at his favourite parlour in Godavarinagar. The next day when he got ready for his morning walk, his head full of thoughts of meeting the blonde, his son said, “Papa, you had better put on shirt and trousers. Nobody wears kurta pyjama here.” Mr Dev took young man's advice without any protest. He also put on his 209 monkey cap to hide the grey in his hair. Either Mr Dev was late today or the blonde had taken some other route. He didn't meet her. Meeting an American blonde in America who bows to you – even if out of respect – is an experience you wish to be repeated even if you are a grey-haired fifty- something. Mr Dev was silent on that day when he returned to his son's house in the colony in Rocky Hill. His daughter-in-law noted this and remarked about it. Mr Dev couldn't tell her his thoughts. A few days later he saw her again on the same pavement. She was several meters ahead of him. The pavement was empty except for her and Mr Dev at that point of time in the morning. Mr Dev decided to follow her. He could speak English rather well even if he spoke the language with the accent of an educated Indian who had learnt his English i