Siva’s throat tightened a little at the thought of his father. Kesavan was working in the eastern province this month, trying to earn extra money at Batticaloa Central Post Office. Although Dr Rajan would pay for the wedding and offer a considerable dowry, Kesavan wanted to contribute. He didn’t have to, he had his own daughters to pay for, but he didn’t want Dr Rajan to think he had agreed to this marriage because of the wealth Dr Rajan could offer.

He smoothed the wrinkled letter he carried from his father to the doctor. He didn’t know what it contained but he assumed it was an apology. ‘It is a very thick letter,’ his mother had worried. ‘What else might your father want to say? He can be so honest and emotional sometimes. Colombo 7 people aren’t like that. Perhaps we should open it first?’

Siva had refused and took the letter from his mother, saying, ‘Amma, please relax. Remember what Appa says: if this marriage is meant to happen, it will happen.’

Dr Rajan entered with Priya, his niece Dhara and Nala’s younger sister, Kamini. Everyone stood up nervously. Pleasantries were exchanged and Rajan gave them all permission to sit. No one spoke. Siva awkwardly thrust Kesavan’s letter forward.

‘Dr Rajan, my father is very sorry he couldn’t be here today. He is working at the Batticaloa Central Post Office this month. But he sent you this letter.’ He handed the letter to him. Rajan thanked him and slowly walked out to read it. He was an awkward man too, Siva thought.

Once more a silence. Siva’s eyes wandered as he tried to think of something to say. He rubbed his bare feet against the soft Persian rug on the floor. The strings on the edge of the rug were all uncommonly straight, as though someone had combed them, making sure each one was uniform and parallel to the next.

Nala hurried in with her servant girl close behind her. As tea was served, she offered everyone some of her ‘world famous butter cake’. At the mention of the words ‘world famous’, Siva saw Priya smile and look down.

The cake was warm, soft and buttery. It had just come out of the oven and was melting in his mouth.

Nala smiled knowingly as a satisfied silence descended. She leaned over and whispered to his mother, ‘People love my cake, they always do. Rajan never believes me when I tell him and now he won’t even see it with his own eyes! Man may be able to walk on the moon, but can he make a butter cake like this?