‘It’s your own fault. I don’t know why you can’t keep it properly. What’s the point of having all this hair if you can’t look after it?’ Amma snapped, pulling hard with a steel comb. She was massaging sesame oil into the thick mass, untangling and deciphering the curls into a braided message of wifely order and propriety. Sitting on the verandah of their home, Amma adjusted her cane chair to get a better grip, punctuating her lecture with sharp tugs.

‘Tomorrow we will wash it, and by Saturday it will be clean and tidy, all ready for the viewing.’

‘You make me sound like a bullock being traded—a fine white bullock with good hair.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ her mother retorted with more retaliatory combing. ‘You say such silly things. You are not a bullock and you are not that fine.’

Amma paused for a moment to survey her work before continuing. ‘Ayah and I are going to teach you how to cook next week. Just the basics, we can’t teach you everything in a week. But you can’t show up at your in-laws’ house not knowing how to make a simple sarakku spice mix. What will they think of me if you can’t roast coriander and cumin seeds without burning them?’

Amma shook her head as she contemplated her daughter’s ignorance. ‘Imagine if they asked you to prepare a chicken curry and paruppu—you would have to ask them how to boil dhal. I would be shamed—shamed I tell you. God help you if they like crab curry. I told you to spend more time in the kitchen and less time playing badminton. Of what use is badminton to your husband?’

Mohan said badminton was an important skill. He had moved in with her family while studying at university in Colombo. Sometimes he let her win their weekly competitions. Her twin brothers were only eight and sometimes she let them win.

‘Amma, I don’t even have a husband yet, or in-laws.’

‘That’s right, and you never will if you keep talking back. Saturn is in your eighth house at the moment; that’s why everything you say comes out badly.’

Nala opened her mouth but closed it again, it was pointless. Emboldened by her silence, Amma continued. ‘I wish you would learn from me. Your words don’t become a girl like you.’

‘You mean a girl like you were. I am not you, Amma. I’m not you!’ Nala’s nose reddened as she felt her tears betray her. She hated crying in front of her mother.