“Yes, with God’s wishes everything went fine,” Mummy said, looking up at the picture of Lord Krishna playing a flute, a peacock feather adorning his dark, curly hair, and his eyes smiling at everyone. When I was four or five, I was afraid that if I didn’t behave, his smile would vanish and he’d step out of the picture and scold me.

“Hema, come, come. Sit down,” Foi said, tucking in the loose end of her sari as she came out of the kitchen.

“Kem cho? How are you?” Hema Auntie said, looking a little startled. “I was telling Purnima that you didn’t spare any expense for Nimita. You know what I mean. In these days of inflation, and when you have two other ones—”

Foi interrupted her, saying, “Hema, wouldn’t you have done the same if you were in our place?”

“Yes, but Purnima still has two more daughters to worry about, and when her sons are so young, and one of them . . . You know what I mean.”

“Everyone comes with their own destiny, and the giver has a thousand hands. Don’t you worry, there is always a speck for an ant and a ton for an elephant,” Foi said, sitting down.

Mohini brought tea out, and Hema Auntie took the hint and poured it into the saucer. She gulped it down without mentioning the subject again.

I wished Hema Auntie would stay in her own house and irritate her own family.

That evening, before Mummy went to Lord Krishna’s temple, she asked Mohini and me to cook dinner. Now that Nimita was married, Mohini and I talked more. When Mummy was away, the kitchen was our favorite place. No one could hear our goos-poos, private talks. Chiraj and Vivek were never around the kitchen. If I asked Chiraj to help with cleaning and cutting spinach or dicing potatoes, he always laughed and said, “I’m not a girl. I don’t braid my hair and I don’t dice potatoes.” Mummy never asked him to help or expected him to serve a glass of water to a guest, so why would he listen to me?

As I stuffed round eggplants with a mixture of coriander leaves, fresh coconut, and spices, Mohini made dough.

I asked, “Do you know how much we spent on the wedding?”

“A lot.”

“We must have. All the saris and jewelry we bought, and the hall rentals and food must have cost thousands of rupees.”

“Yes.”

I watched her divide up the dough into small balls. As she took a piece and began rolling it, I could see her brow arching and bunching up. I knew she was having a deep, troubling thought.

“Why did we have to do so much?” I asked.

“It’s the custom.”