Cover

Title Page

Koyal Dark,

Mango Sweet

Kashmira Sheth

Dedication

For my daughters, Neha and Rupa

My heartfelt thanks to the following people for their help:

Members of my writing groups:

Write On and Tuesdays with Story.

The team at Hyperion.

And especially, Donna Bray, Vita Dani, Shilpa Dave,

Arianne Lewin, Marjorie Melby, Corey Meyer, Chris Paskus,

Vinitha Pittala, Charlotte Sheedy, Neha Sheth, Rajan Sheth,

Samir Sheth, Amit Trivedi, Bharatiben Trivedi, Joey Valdez,

and Rupa Valdez.

one

MUMMY KNOCKED on the door. “Jeeta, enough thaga-thiya. If you don’t come out this minute you’ll have to stay in there for two hours.”

Every time a prospective groom came to see my twenty-one-year-old sister, Nimita, Mummy asked my other sister, Mohini, and me to disappear into the streets of Mumbai. Mummy told us it was because Nimita and the boy needed time to be alone. Sure—as alone as bees are in their hives. The boy usually came with three or four relatives, so what difference did it make if Mohini and I were there or not? Maybe it was because Mohini was nineteen and I was sixteen, and the poor boy would get confused between us all.

Mummy knocked again. “JEETA!”

“Will you really make me stay in here for two hours? What if someone needs to use the bathroom?” I said as I came out.

Mummy strode to the door of our apartment and held it open. Mohini was waiting outside at the top of the staircase.

“Go, go, hurry, the guests will be here any minute.” Mummy motioned with her arm as if to sweep me out.

“I can’t go barefoot. Let me at least slip on my sandals.”

“Stay out for a while.”

“We will,” Mohini said as we went down the stairs.

Mummy shut the door.

“You escaped before Mummy got mad,” Mohini said.

“Yup! Did you see the way Mummy flicked me out of the house as if I were a bedbug? I wiggled away before she stomped and squashed me, though. I’m quick.”

“Not always. What took you so long to get ready?”

“Why does it matter? We’re out of the house, aren’t we? I don’t enjoy being kicked out. I hope this boy is the caboose. You know, the last one of a long train,” I said.

“Poor Nimita! I wonder how she has managed to go through this seventeen times?”