Priya didn’t want to disappoint her daughter. She remembered her mother emerging from the pool, her underskirt clinging to her curvaceous body. Nala had laughed as she stumbled and almost fell back in with Smrithi, who giggled at her side and dragged her out.

It was funny. Dhara would find it funny too. She must remember to tell her.

‘I’ll take these swimmers. Thank you very much for your help,’ she said, before she could change her mind.

•

Priya stirred the chillied chickpeas, scraping the onions from the base of the pan. Mustard seeds popped and spat angrily at her. She was sick of fighting: with Smrithi, with Nala, sometimes even with Siva. It was draining her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Don’t force Smrithi to do this, mahal, it’s not that important,’ Nala said. ‘Even Tamils in Sri Lanka don’t have the ceremony. They’re changing, leaving some traditions behind.’

‘Leave it behind? You forced me. Of course the ritual is important. This is Smrithi’s Samathia Chadangu, her age attainment ceremony.’

‘I know. Many rituals are important, but rituals, like people, need to evolve. You have to change, mahal, we did.’

Vivek caught a chickpea as it flew out of the pan. ‘The purpose of the ceremony is to tell the community that Smrithi has started menstruating; that she can have children and she’s ready for marriage. It’s disgusting, Amma.’

‘Stay out of this mahan, this is between Ammamma and myself,’ Priya snapped at her sixteen-year-old son. She turned to face her mother. ‘You didn’t change, Amma, you’ve never had to. If we let this tradition go, what’s next? We do these traditions to remind ourselves—to remind the children—who they are and where they’ve come from.’

‘Mahal.’ Nala took the spatula from Priya and gently nudged her aside. ‘Your children will always know who they are and where they’ve come from.’

Did her mother realise what she had just said—did Smrithi know who she was or where she’d come from? The guilt made her stomach churn; the irony of her mother’s statement made her furious.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Amma,’ she hissed. ‘I’m trying to teach her the rules. I mean the rituals. I’m trying to raise her properly. The way … I’m supposed to.’ The way Dhara would.

‘You are raising her properly. You can let go of some of our traditions and even some of our values, without losing your children.’

Nala tasted the curry and smiled.

‘It’s perfect, I don’t know how you do it.’ She shook her head. Priya reclaimed her spatula.

‘You don’t know what it’s like here, Amma. Every day she’s asking me about movies and sleepovers and discos and camps.’