‘I am not keeping so well,’ she would complain softly, ‘the upcountry climate doesn’t suit me. It is so cold and misty there and I have phlegm trouble also. And how long can we stay in a boarding house sharing a room? We must also have our freedom. Sulo too must make up her mind, no? She is getting on and then it will be difficult to find a husband. I have put away money for her. My jewellery also is here for her. See, she has a nice gold chain. All that she needs. Dowry, also, I can give. And she has her education. Only we must find a good man. See, will you, already she has refused so many proposals. Look, let me show you the letter that Mrs Selvaratnam sent me about her son. He is a lawyer with a house in Barnes Place. Only child, so no in-law problems. And Mrs Selvaratnam is longing for a daughter! Sulo will be in Colombo and she can get a good job at the International School for twelve, fifteen thousand a month.’ Sulo would keep silent. Then she would burst out: ‘How to marry him, Aunty? He is going bald. All his hair in front is getting thinner. How to go out with him? I’ll be embarrassed. He is tall, sharp-featured and all, but no hair, no?’

Meena put the letter back in her purse. It had been a pleading, propitiatory letter extolling the virtues of the son, of the family, and showing eagerness to have Sulo as a daughter-in-law. There were families which had built up respectability and standing in society—sons educated and professionally qualified, mature men in their late twenties or early thirties, house and property in Colombo 7, wanting to settle down with a wife of the mother’s choice. Virtue and chastity were essentials in the game. Young women with these rare qualities were diligently sought out.