We finished visiting with Rosa Parks around 9:30 AM. Next stop was a small unanticipated delight.

Hank Williams, the Senior, his grave is in Montgomery. He was from Alabama. I had no idea. I was idly googling things to do in Montgomery when I stumbled on the fact.

There are some sounds, which I hope accompany me into eternity. The music of Hank Williams Sr. is one of them. I find Hank Williams’ voice, his lyrics, and music, a little piece of perfection. Human beings, by definition, are not perfect. However, some of us, at certain times, are able to produce perfection. Hank Williams’ music is one such example for me. They say God is perfect. I cannot know if God exists. I do know Hank Williams’ music exists. I am happy to worship what I can hear, touch, see. Hank Williams’ life was plenty messy. Hank Williams was not God. His music though, to me, is bloody divine.

Krishnamachari Srikanth’s square drive off Andy Roberts, in the 1983 World Cup final. 42 years ago, and I can still see it in my mind’s eye. Tendulkar’s straight drive off Shoaib Akthar, in the 2003 World Cup. Jemima Rodrigues’ knock in the 2025 Semi-Final against Australia. These are of a piece with Hank Williams’ music. A touch of God amongst us mortals.

The cemetery is within the city, not far from downtown. There was a road all way up to Hank Williams’ grave site. It felt good to be there. Part of it was being all by ourselves in that vast cemetery, swaddled in the bright morning sun. It was not hot yet. Part of it was the dubious thrill of being in a place where I am not expected to be. Indian immigrant – what would he know of Hank Williams Sr.? My Mom and I got out of the car and walked about the grave site a bit. Little old Indian lady in a saree, at Hank Williams’ grave. Only in America.

After a bit, an older White couple stopped at the grave. We chatted. If they were surprised to see my Mom and me there, it did not show on their faces. Nice. The lady asked me if we were going to the Hank Williams memorabilia store. I said yes I wanted to, but it was not open yet. The gentleman said they were headed to a Hank Williams Jr. concert later. I replied, oh nice, but it’s not the same. Yes, he agreed, laughing. I offered to take a photo of them at the grave. They readily accepted. Shortly after, Mom and I left. They lingered on at the grave site.

I wanted to ask them where they were from. I did not hear a discernible accent. I imagine somewhere from the vast middle of America. Not a big city. Not a small town. Not a rural county. Middle of all that.

I did not make it to the Hank Williams store. I wanted to go. But the day filled up with other stuff. Also we lost a few hours to the afternoon heat. Ah well, I already have his music – all the memorabilia I need really.