Priya picked up the knife and continued cutting, tears falling into the food.

Nala hurried through her prepared speech. ‘They studied together at university, she’s also a doctor. Vivek says it’s serious for both of them.’

The tears fell faster and Priya had to stop to wipe her face. Nala’s nose reddened in sympathy. She had had this conversation before, many years ago. Boys—it was always the boys.

‘He said he’s been trying to tell you for the last few months. He didn’t want to lie but he’s afraid of your reaction. That’s why I’m telling you. Her parents were informed last week.’

‘Does anyone else know about this?’ Priya asked.

She didn’t hesitate before she lied again. ‘No, just me and a few of his friends from university, I think.’

Nala, Smrithi and all of Vivek’s cousins were party to his clandestine relationship. They had been instructed to feign surprise when a formal announcement was made.

Priya spoke quietly, ‘Will he leave her if I ask him?’

‘Don’t ask him to do that,’ she said gently. ‘He loves her; please don’t make him choose.’

‘But what if they marry, what about the children? What will the children be? She’ll make him convert.’

‘Vivek is a good boy, he won’t do that—you have to trust him. Trust the way you raised him.’

‘Trust? It’s too much, Amma—a Catholic—a white—it’s too much. He will lose everything. We—we will lose everything.’

‘No, mahal, please listen to me. Don’t cry,’ Nala reached out but let her arm drop. She wanted to hold her daughter, but it had been a long time since Priya had allowed that.

‘I know what you’re going through, mahal. We allowed Nandan to marry Shiranthi—’

Priya interrupted her. ‘You allowed Nandan to marry Shiranthi because you allowed Nandan to do anything and everything he wanted. You spoilt him.’

Nala faltered. Priya was right but it was more complicated than that. She wiped her face with her sari pallu and spoke again.

‘We did spoil him, but we also changed, Priya. Sometimes Sydney reminds me of Colombo. We each had our own suburb, the Tamils in Wellawatte, the Muslims and the Sinhalese had their places too. Just like here—you all live in your own neighbourhoods and you think you’re safe, that your children are protected because you keep to yourselves.

‘Your Appa and I, we learned that if we wanted to live, we had to mix and we had to marry. I loved Colombo, but it had no future. Maybe it still has no future. But you, in Sydney, with Vivek and these Catholic Italians—you have a chance.’

Priya’s shoulders dropped. She was already dialling Dhara’s number. She took her cordless phone and left the room. It was early morning in Colombo.