“I brought you this from home. I hope that’s okay,” she offers.  The ever-prepared mother that she is, her coffee-filled thermos, two cups, cream, and sugar offer me warm, liquid respite from the biting cold of a DC morning in early February. I am in a coffee era at present, and this homemade cup of energy and comfort hit the spot.  “Of course, it is. You are too kind,” I say, taken with–yet unsurprised by–her thoughtfulness. In the common area of a chic apartment complex, our bodies and minds thaw to begin a new day, one that affords me the opportunity to converse with and briefly shadow Indian-American dancer, choreographer, educator, and human embodiment of serenity–I added that last bit–Chitra Subramanian.