My father stayed in a hospital the last days of his life. The window in his room overlooked a durgah. My father and I spent hours looking out at the changing sky and at the durgah standing serene against the resplendent sky. The dome of the mosque was lit by a green light. On a normal day green light would have made me sick, but during the weeks I spent in the hospital room with my father, the light spread warmth in me. I wanted my father to look at the mosque as a symbol of hope. I waited for the muezzin’s call for evening prayer everyday and timed my meditation to the call. I urged my father to do the same. Though his mind was agitated he attempted to close his eyes and repeat the Gayathri mantram. It is four years since my dear father passed away and I cannot drive past the durgah without looking at the warm green tone of the dome.