Baba Haji Checking into the hotel in London, I was filled with excitement and sadness at the same time. It had been decades since I had last seen my Dai (uncle) Homayoun. The difference now was that his life partner of 50 plus years, Khal-eh (auntie) Shahin would not be with him. She had recently died in a car accident. When I heard a gentle knock on the door, I quickly opened it. Dai stepped forward, buried his head in my arms, and quietly wept. This was not the Dai Homayoun that I knew. A man whose physical stance yelled, ‘try me!’ A man who had withstood months of solitary confinement and physical torture under the Khomeini regime. This was someone else. An older man who was broken. An older man who had lost his North Star. Dai was someone who always turned everything upside down, and made fun of people being too emotional. For example when Mooness joon (his grandmother and my great grandmother) died, he questioned why I was being sad. He suggested that we meet up at t...