She was crying now as she sometimes did when she thought about her mami in Colombo, her work and the stories she told.

‘Our parents left, Smrithi, and I won’t feel guilty about the privileges that come with their choices.’

‘I know and I agree. We have left; we are almost born again while other people are dying. To me, that means that the parts of our culture we take with us should be by choice and not blind habit.’

‘So if you could choose to marry me, or call it whatever you want to call it, with or without the ritual—if you could choose to stay with me forever, and have lots of culturally challenged children with me, would you?’

She wiped her tears and laughed. ‘Of course I would,’ she answered.

Colombo, 2001

News arrived in Colombo, via relatives in London and Toronto that Smrithi had found someone. After months of negotiation and meetings between the two families, Smrithi and Prashanth agreed to a registry wedding in London, witnessed nervously by Anand, Siva’s younger brother and stand-in.

Priya called Dhara in tears.

‘Tell her to come home and have a Hindu wedding here. She can’t carry on like this. What will people say? Find out what’s going on, Dhara, please,’ Priya implored hysterically.

Dhara tried to reassure her. ‘He’s Sri Lankan Tamil, from a good family, Acca. She’s had a wedding, albeit a short one at an office rather than a temple or a bowling club. All people should say is “congratulations”.’

‘You know it’s not enough. She thinks she can travel with him, and live with him now, just because she’s signed a document. She’s being stubborn. She’s always been stubborn. A Hindu wedding was good enough for me—it should be good enough for her.’

‘She’s not being stubborn, Acca. She’s just being herself. She’s not listening to you because children often don’t listen to their parents. She thinks differently from us, that’s all.’

‘This isn’t Western liberalism, Dhara, it’s shameful.’

‘No, Acca,’ Dhara stopped her sister. This had gone on long enough. ‘I know about shame, and this isn’t it. Shame crawls under your skin and makes you want to tear at yourself until you are reduced to a raw, basic element of who you were, so you can start over, as someone else.’

She could feel Priya’s head sink into her hands on the other side of the phone. Her voice softened.

‘This is love, Acca. Don’t make it into more than that. She’s just a young girl, in love, and given that you had to throw your son two ceremonies, your wedding average is unaffected by Smrithi’s offbeat approach to life and familial compliance.’

‘Will you talk to her … for me?’

‘Yes, I will talk to her, for you,’ Dhara replied.