a cook as Amma and make dishes
that catch their fancy as the
wind blows. They would
not know that it is only
by a stroke of luck that
the coffee, that she
brews, turns out
to be potable.
Serves them all
right…!” the western courtyard for her hair to
dry. Hens came and went out of her
sight, looking for food, nibbling at a
morsel now and then, running away
when she waved her hand. The
chicks were raising a sweet ruckus. A
cock, keen on a particular hen, was
following her like a smitten lover. He
did not seem to be making much
headway.
After
lunch
was ready, her
mother asked
her to rest
awhile. She had
to be fresh when
they would come
to meet her. When she felt that her hair were dry,
she combed them. She had thick,
long and jet-black hair that reached
to the back of her knees. When she
tied it up into a knot, the bun would
be as big as her head. She plaited
her hair between her quick fingers,
plucked a few sprigs of Tulsi leaves,
and stuck them into the uppermost
knot of her plaited hair.
She moaned to her-
self and retired to her
room.
Her thoughts did not let her rest.
They took her where they pleased.
She was as free as a bird. The bird
began building a nest. She was
startled and she sat up. Her brow
was sweating. She mopped it. She
took a book she had borrowed from
the library and began half-hearted-
ly to read it. The bookmarked book
did not help her case. Her mind
freewheeled into a world of fantasy.
The book and her reality she forgot.
This magical world did not last for
long. The call for lunch came ring-
ing into her wandering mind. The
perfunctory conversation at the ta-
ble made the food even more un-
palatable than what she felt they
were supposed to be. Her parents
ascribed her fidgetiness to her anx-
iety and were not far from the truth.
She gathered up the leaves on which
they had eaten and threw them un-
der the coconut palm to the north
of the house. After a short siesta, she
took a leisurely bath. She stood in
It was half past four in March.
The Sun was unbearably hot in
the Western sky. She went back
into her room. Amma had already
laid out some clothes. It was a nice
dark green silk sari with a narrow
gold border. The green looked fresh
and shimmered like freshly washed
leaves after a rain. It complement-
ed her fair complexion. She care-
fully wrapped the sari around her.
She pinned the trailing brocade to a
well-fitting and matching blouse.
She sat at the dressing table and
stared back at her reflection. “Not
bad”, she thought, “I have a nice,
pretty face, nice eyes, quite a passable
nose, and fine lips. The cheek bones
are neithe