Priya and Smrithi created a new rhythm with each other, footsteps moving forward, tentatively, erratically at first, more confidently later as each step found the comfort of solid ground. They still stumbled into anger and disappointment, but they steadied themselves.

Anger and disappointment were passing emotions, two of many, Nala said Oprah said; Rajan said Karna said; Siva said Lord Krishna said; Smrithi said Nala said. Like hurt. And guilt and regret and longing. And even love.

The door opened and the rituals of childhood emerged.

Rishi brought his copy of the Mahabharata to his grandfather and, together, similar but not identical heads bent over the text and transported themselves to the ancient kingdom of Hastinapura, to a time when gods walked the earth with warriors. Siva told his little grandson about Karna, who followed his own dharma. He talked about duty and the importance of doing things properly. Rishi nodded, his head cocked to the side, as he traced the swell of his grandfather’s rheumatic hands.

Ahalya came to her grandmother with her comb and elaborate hair ties. Ahalya’s hair was just like Smrithi’s. Priya slowly and gently pulled the comb through, taking care not to hurt her, as grandmother and granddaughter chatted away. At the end, Ahalya would lean back and Priya would hold her close. Dhara once said Ahalya smelled like sunlight. She was right.

Every week Priya gave Smrithi a quick kiss and handed her a cooler bag full of curries. Smrithi would sometimes reach out and hug her mother. That day, Priya carried two extra bags. From the first one, she pulled out a pink pavadai sattai, the traditional outfit worn by young girls. Ahalya kissed her grandmother with delight and immediately tried to put the pink skirt on. Priya showed her the pearls she had embroidered onto the blouse.

‘It’s for your mummy and daddy’s wedding, darling,’ she said, looking at Smrithi and helping Ahalya into the dress. ‘Mummy tells me you’re going to be her flower girl.’

‘I am! What’s in the other bag, Ammamma?’ Ahalya asked.

Priya took out a bottle of rose syrup from the second cooler bag and said, ‘I’m going to make you a drink, Ahalya. It’s pink. You’ll love it.’

•

The heat and smoke from the priest’s fire was oppressive. The wedding was almost over; Nala exhaled with relief. Smrithi had asked for a small wedding at the Westmead Temple. Only the family was invited, which Nala had conceded to happily, grateful that Smrithi was having a Hindu ceremony at all. She looked at the family gathered there with some amusement—it included Smrithi’s young daughter and son. It was a very modern wedding, but then Nala always had been a very modern grandmother.

She asked Smrithi why she had agreed to a Hindu wedding after so many years. Smrithi replied that ‘it would make my mother happy’.