We had been playing cricket, one hot, humid summer day. It had rained the night before, and although the night had been cooler, the heat came back the following day with a vengeance. We were taking our drinks break, not due to a traffic interruption but because it was intensely hot and we needed to quench our thirst and cool down with some refreshing, cold sodas. A taxi rolled past us, stopping before the makeshift wickets and honked at them as if that would prompt the plastic bins to jump aside. I ran over to move them and watched as the taxi rolled along and come to a standstill, a few feet ahead, by my house. A slender woman with light brown hair and a thin turquoise duputta lightly draped over her head stepped out, clutching a purse in her hands. The taxi driver set her bag beside her as she paid him her fare. She had rung the bell for just a few seconds when my mother came out to greet her. Or rather escort her inside. It wasn’t the usual cordial, warm greeting that she reserved for most people, but rather a cold acceptance of the person before her. She attempted to move the bag but realizing it was too heavy looked down the street towards me, and called me over to help them out. I ran over, all the while wondering who the beautiful lady was, and helped bring the bag, which was exorbitantly heavy, in behind them.
At night we sat down for dinner on the dinner mat, laid out with my mother’s delicious cooking: biryani, aaloo gosht and raita. As usual, the power was out.
Candles were placed on the mat and around us to lighten up the dark around us. As we were quite literally boiling in the heat my father had opened the doors and windows to allow a breeze to flow through. This was also an open invitation for mosquitoes to buzz in and suck on our blood so to counter that we would place a mosquito repellant coil by the door, and around the perimeter of the dinner mat. My mother had also set a couple of old newspapers to be used as hand fans beside us, excluding the woman, so that we could fan ourselves. I noticed this, and so, while my mother was filling the jug with water in the kitchen, I handed my fan to her.
She looked at me, and I at her, and it was the first time, I now realize, that I was actually looking at her and noticing her delicate features. I was moved be the beauty that hid veiled in the darkness of the night. I felt my cheeks glowing warm and I looked away, embarrassed that I had been looking at her.
She was related to my mother: her half-sister she claimed . But she looked much younger than her, and they didn’t quite look that much alike.
It had been a little over two weeks since she had arrived at our doorstep but I sensed a change that had washed across our household.