My old neighbors just visited. They visit about every three months. She is a wealthy widow with two daughters married off and one to go, Neha. Neha's destiny may include perpetual singleness as the daughter-in-laws seem none to happy to watch over this jolly widow.
These neighbors loved to blare their tv late at night watching Serials (soaps~ are they still called that or are they dramas now?). Neha used to escape her daughterly duties by fleeing to the roof where her plump sister and mother refused to follow. The climb proved too steep. So their voices would rise up from below bellowing out their command for Neha to return to them. She seldom did till the voices reached a crescendo of certain doom.
I partaken and watched through two pregnancies. One almost in tandem with mine, a tandoori double. Hers was a girl mine was a boy. I felt almost guilty, as though I had deceived her somehow. She returned home in shame when in our home either sex would have been welcome. Sometimes it feels sinful to share your joy when you can't really share. Then we both had girls. Again. Shame twice over for her. Joy twice over for me. Empathic, feeling her pain I also feel guilty. Can I be sad for a friend when she births another girl and yet rejoice for the new life? Who would I be to preach a feminist sermon to my friend whose angry husband shatters the edges of our conversation. Who would I be to shout the great joy of having a girl when I had a boy first? Sometimes the water is murky.
Well they came three dark shadows glinting at the foreheads and wrists with silver gems on their nikkab. The two little girls (2 and 3) were dressed to the nines complete with hats, coats, sweaters and long underwear. The temps were in the 80s.
How I want to write in more depth but lets say this. My children slept during the visit but they aren't right now.
A neighbor girl stole the shoes outside our door. The shoes of my guests. While I was making chai they rained down into our ungan space from the roof. I just saw something fly by, I thought it was trash (at least it wasn't chewing gum, too big) being disposed into our home. It happens. As we were searching for the shoes I remembered the falling missile and checked. Sure enough a pair of three year old tennis shoes colored like the rainbow, splayed in my ungan.
We had chai, water, fruit, and chocolate cake. Chocolate cake that I had to call and ask my husband to bring from a bakery, quickly on the way from his office. All of my baked goods had been eaten by guests the day before and I had nothing. Nothing to offer on a Monday isn't too scary because people don't usually visit on Mondays and if they do they call first. But I was caught without a speck of food. So one sweating husband, six spoons, one pregnant lady, four adults, two toddlers and two pieces of chocolate cake later, we drank our chai and said our goodbyes.
I felt honored. I love this culture.
Have your old neighbors from a few years back visited unannounced in the middle of the day lately? Ever?
These neighbors loved to blare their tv late at night watching Serials (soaps~ are they still called that or are they dramas now?). Neha used to escape her daughterly duties by fleeing to the roof where her plump sister and mother refused to follow. The climb proved too steep. So their voices would rise up from below bellowing out their command for Neha to return to them. She seldom did till the voices reached a crescendo of certain doom.
I partaken and watched through two pregnancies. One almost in tandem with mine, a tandoori double. Hers was a girl mine was a boy. I felt almost guilty, as though I had deceived her somehow. She returned home in shame when in our home either sex would have been welcome. Sometimes it feels sinful to share your joy when you can't really share. Then we both had girls. Again. Shame twice over for her. Joy twice over for me. Empathic, feeling her pain I also feel guilty. Can I be sad for a friend when she births another girl and yet rejoice for the new life? Who would I be to preach a feminist sermon to my friend whose angry husband shatters the edges of our conversation. Who would I be to shout the great joy of having a girl when I had a boy first? Sometimes the water is murky.
Well they came three dark shadows glinting at the foreheads and wrists with silver gems on their nikkab. The two little girls (2 and 3) were dressed to the nines complete with hats, coats, sweaters and long underwear. The temps were in the 80s.
How I want to write in more depth but lets say this. My children slept during the visit but they aren't right now.
A neighbor girl stole the shoes outside our door. The shoes of my guests. While I was making chai they rained down into our ungan space from the roof. I just saw something fly by, I thought it was trash (at least it wasn't chewing gum, too big) being disposed into our home. It happens. As we were searching for the shoes I remembered the falling missile and checked. Sure enough a pair of three year old tennis shoes colored like the rainbow, splayed in my ungan.
We had chai, water, fruit, and chocolate cake. Chocolate cake that I had to call and ask my husband to bring from a bakery, quickly on the way from his office. All of my baked goods had been eaten by guests the day before and I had nothing. Nothing to offer on a Monday isn't too scary because people don't usually visit on Mondays and if they do they call first. But I was caught without a speck of food. So one sweating husband, six spoons, one pregnant lady, four adults, two toddlers and two pieces of chocolate cake later, we drank our chai and said our goodbyes.
I felt honored. I love this culture.
Have your old neighbors from a few years back visited unannounced in the middle of the day lately? Ever?
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