“Jeeta, in our time girls married whoever their parents said to marry and made the marriage work. I met your Pappa only once before our marriage. When I left my small town of Sihor and came to the big city of Mumbai, I didn’t complain. Overnight, more than my name was changed. Overnight, I left more than my parents, uncle and aunt, and all my brothers and sisters: I left our big rambling house with the lush mango grove surrounded by thick mehndi hedges, the peacocks that came every morning to feed, the young Bharvad boys in bright clothes leading their cows and water buffaloes to the pasture land, the afternoon snack of freshly dug peanuts and brown sugar, the sound of temple bells ringing in the evening just as the dust from the returning cows’ hooves covered the sky . . . but I didn’t complain.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“We believed in making the best of what befell us. Our parents and elders were older and wiser than us, and we respected them and the choices they made for us. In this new time, girls go out with boys five times and still say no to them. They keep their engagement for two years, get married, and then they change their minds. I ask, are they happier? I don’t think so. I scold you for your own good. Keep your wandering mind under control and the rest will follow.”

Her tone was wistfully gentle. She’d never talked to me with such power. It rattled me.

I thought about how brave Mummy was to move from a place like Sihor to Mumbai! That was a long, long time ago, and yet her voice revealed that she still missed those things. I wondered if Pappa was ever aware of what Mummy had left behind when she got married. Did he ever talk to her about her past and all the things that made her childhood? Did he ever try to understand her?

I helped Mummy clean up our bedroom from corner to corner. It was considered bad luck to get any of the baby’s things ready until after the birth. But we could prepare all the things Nimita would need after the delivery. Mommy made a mixture of roasted sesame, fennel, and dill seeds, with dried, roasted coconut for Nimita to eat after dinner every day so that she’d have enough milk for nursing and the baby wouldn’t get cramps. Chiraj, Vivek, and I liked the mixture so much that Mummy had to make twice as much as she’d planned.

The following Thursday, Nimita gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Nimita’s face glowed bright, and even in her dim eyes I could see sparkles.

When he picked the baby up for the first time, Girishji gleamed as though he were surrounded by a thousand lamps. She stared at him with her bright eyes and studied his face. He drew her close to his chest.