Saroja insisted Kumaresan stop the bicycle. So they walked, pushing the bicycle along. The night before, she had convinced him to take her with him to see the new shop. Saroja had woken up as soon as she heard her mother-in-law moving about, and quickly finished cooking. The thought that she was going to be out with Kumaresan had helped her conquer her fear of working in the dark. She packed food for the morning and the afternoon in separate containers.

In Tholur, she had carried lunch for her father and brother in separate metal boxes with tight lids to ensure the sambar or rasam inside did not spill out. You could get different kinds of bags there as well. She had two wide bags woven with a thin but sturdy wire that she had picked out herself. They made the task of carrying food a joyful prospect. She could fit all the lunch boxes into those bags, as well as the plates and ladles, and use a towel to cover the top. When those bags were new, she had felt a strange pride in carrying them. Even though she had to switch hands periodically to balance the weight, she never grew tired of holding them. But here, in the village, there were no such bags, no such boxes. Most of the vessels were earthen. She had a hard time memorizing their names. Initially, when Kumaresan said, ‘Sochatti, saachatti,’ she had no idea what he was talking about. Then he explained it to her. Sochatti was sotthu-chatti, the vessel in which rice or any other grain was cooked. Saachatti was saaru-chatti, in which gravies were prepared. He often spoke to her as if she too was from Kattuppatti. Everyone did. But it was particularly disorienting when Kumaresan did it.

When she got upset with him for speaking to her that way, he started explaining everything to her patiently. She learned the difference between melolachatti, thadachatti, peraalachatti, neechatti, mutti and soppu. It took time to get used to cooking in those vessels, so she was very careful with them. After all, if any of them broke, she would be held accountable. Many of these earthen pots had turned black at the bottom from resting repeatedly over a flame. Kumaresan told her that she should not press them too hard while washing them. There were a few lead vessels—some plates and tumblers. There were no other metal utensils. Apparently, the silver and brass utensils his mother received as wedding gifts still lay in the loft in his appucchi’s house.

‘Do I have a lot of children here to use all the silver and brass stuff?’ Marayi used to say to anyone who asked. ‘I am all alone. Mud vessels will do. When he brings a wife, let her start using all the utensils. He will build her a house, won’t he?’ But this daughter-in-law was certainly not going to get to use all those silver and brass vessels.