Hema Auntie came to see the baby. She looked at the baby as if she were an inspector in charge of giving out health certificates to newborns. “Well, at least the baby is healthy.”

I was furious. Why did she have to say “at least”?

“Too bad you have three sons and no daughters; you’ll never know what joy a daughter can bring to your life,” I said.

Hema Auntie glared at me. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but her anger wouldn’t let her. Instead she left in a huff, not waiting for Mummy to come.

“Why do you use such sharp words?” Nimita pleaded. “Please, for my sake, keep quiet.”

“How can I keep quiet? Doesn’t she annoy you?”

“I’m too happy to worry about what she or anyone else says. Aren’t I?” she cooed to the baby.

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I won’t say anything more.”

One visitor commented, “With Nimita’s eye problems, a boy would have been better, but in today’s world we must believe both are the same.” And another said, “The first one can be of any sex. Just hope the second one will be a boy to carry on Girishji’s name.”

Nimita’s heart had no place to take in those words.

On my way back from the hospital, I bought two tiny, widemouthed clay pots for Mummy. When I got home Mummy filled one of the pots with castor oil and dipped a cotton wick in it. While it burned she partially covered it with the other clay pot. Black soot collected on the top of the second pot. Later, when the flame went out Mummy added a little ghee to the soot, mixing it together with her clean fingers until it turned into a smooth paste.

She placed the mixture in two small, round, silver boxes with a single rose engraved on each. This was the new kohl for the baby’s delicate eyes.

“Here, you can have this one,” she said, handing me one box.

I applied the jet-black kohl to my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever used such soft and smooth kohl before.”

“When you were a baby I did. Your eyes, they shone like onyx,” Mummy said, giving me a kiss on the forehead.

I buried my head in the folds of her sari.

With the baby’s arrival, Nimita’s world quietly slipped into a new season. I was happy for her. It was still a few more days before the baby’s naming ceremony, so we just called her “Baby.” Nimita and Baby moved from the hospital to our house. Mummy had wanted Nimita to stay with us a month before Baby was due, but because Girishji was alone, Nimita didn’t want to come. As much as I missed having my sisters around, I was glad that Nimita hadn’t moved in with us earlier.