Dry Spells by Maniar Archana

Author:Maniar, Archana [Maniar, Archana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2024-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

It took a fortnight for Pramila to make her final decision. It happened while she and Ba made rotis . Pramila rolled small pieces of dough with a rolling pin. She placed the uncooked roti on a skillet. Ba took it from there. She cooked one side, then the other. Then she placed the piping hot roti directly on the flame until it puffed up like a balloon. Finally, she placed it on a steel dish, gave it a firm “whap” with her hand to release the steam and slathered it with clarified butter. The process had a certain rhythm. The click of the rolling pin as it flattened the dough, the whoosh of the roti as it landed on the pan, the scrape of the metal tongs against the skillet, the “vwoomp” of the roti as it expanded into a perfect circular pillow.

Pramila watched her mother labor over the stove. Ba had changed since Papa’s death. As was tradition for a widow, she wore only white saris. They accentuated her hollowed cheeks and fine lines. Her usually stern demeanor and strict rules had slackened under the weight of her loss. So had the tightness of her braid. In the wake of her husband’s death, Ba had given up on the exactness of life.

Pramila felt a wave of emotion. It was not quite empathy and not quite love. But both were intense within her. She wished she could unburden her mother, if even for an instant.

“Ba , I think I shall marry Dev.” Though the words were spoken in Gujarati, the pronunciation felt foreign. She had never said “I” and “marry” in the same sentence before.

“You have decided? Are you sure?”

Pramila nodded. “He is the right type of person. The family has a good reputation, and we are compatible.”

Ba ’s eyes met her daughter’s. The crow’s feet at the corners of them returned, as she mustered a smile. “Arré? Are you telling me nothing more is needed?”

Pramila felt herself blush. These were hardly topics to speak about with friends, much less her mother. “Ba! It is not so proper to speak of such things!”

“Still, Dev is not a pair of shoes that you purchase from the zapatwala . For shoes you must consider type and make. But to choose a husband is different. There must be something else, isn’t it?”

“He is handsome, if that is what you are meaning.”

Ba still did not smile. Nor did she embrace her daughter. But Pramila knew Ba was satisfied because she was more generous with her spoonful of ghee .

“Well then, let us tell Jayant uncle today so he can speak to Dev’s family.”

The next several weeks of Pramila’s life snapped into place like interlocking pieces. The advice of the pandit was sought to determine an auspicious date for the wedding. Dev had an offer for a job in some place called Boof-alo, New York, and would move just weeks after the wedding. Thankfully, Jayant uncle took charge of preparations for the actual event,

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