Mohini knew I was burning with anger, but she couldn’t do or say anything for me. Mummy was always there. In the evening Mohini asked me to go out for sugarcane juice. There was a sugarcane juice stall right on the next street, but we decided to go farther away so that we wouldn’t meet any of our neighbors. We crossed six streets before we reached the sugarcane stall. Except for the owner and one couple sitting on a long wooden bench, the place was empty. We sat on the opposite end of the bench from the couple and ordered two tall glasses of juice.

I liked this place because the owner, a man of Pappa’s age, did all the work and kept it spotless.

“Are you still upset with Mummy?” Mohini asked.

“No. I deserved it for unleashing my tongue,” I said as I watched the man pick out a couple of fresh canes, trim the ends off with a sharp knife, and pass them between the two moving wheels.

“You’re still angry.”

The man caught the canes coming out the other end, and once again passed them through, sticking in a piece of fresh gingerroot with each one. The frothy juice rolled down the gleaming, stainless steel half tunnel and into a big jug.

“I know Mummy hates my dark skin, but why does she assume that the rest of the world also finds it so offensive?”

“Mummy doesn’t hate it. She’s worried about our future and happiness, that’s all.”

Quickly, the man poured the juice into glasses, squeezed half a lemon into each, and handed them to us, before a single one of the hustling flies had time to land on them. When he left I said, “You keep saying that, but I don’t believe it. It seems like we’re clutter that she wants to get rid of.”

“Please, try and understand Mummy. Do you realize that she worried about Nimita constantly? It drained so much energy out of her. Now she wants to find good husbands for us and wants us to be happy, too.”

“But I don’t like the way she’s doing it. She’s pressuring you to say yes quickly, before you even know the person. In a way, Nimita had less to worry about. Most men said no to her before she had a chance to decide, but it’s different for you. And I dread the time she starts looking for me. Maybe Mummy wants us to be happy, but in the process she’s making us miserable. I know she loves us, but I still wonder.”

I took a long sip while Mohini talked.

“Don’t forget the old saying, ‘A mother is a mother, and the rest of the people are breezes that blow from the jungle.’”