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Authors: Shilpi Somaya Gowda
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maternal love left in her heart for him, prays it didn’t die along with her daughters.
T HE NEXT MORNING, THE HOUSE HUMS WITH ACTIVITY . K AVITA’S mother has been up early frying jalebis, the sticky sweet delicacies essential at their celebrations. Family members arrive in a steady stream, each one seeking out Kavita and Jasu to offer their congratulationsand gifts. When Jasu’s parents arrive, they take Kavita aside and hand her a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
“It is a new kurta-pajama, ” Jasu’s mother says, “for the baby to wear at the namkaran .” She smiles so widely her missing molars are visible. Kavita unwraps the package with care and pulls out a maroon silk outfit, embroidered with gold thread. A cream-colored vest covered in small round mirrors and a pair of impossibly small pointed ivory shoes complete the outfit. Kavita strokes the smooth fabric. It is genuine silk, and the embroidery is done by hand. The outfit is beautiful, impractical, an indulgence, and one that Jasu’s parents cannot easily afford. She looks up to thank her mother-in-law and sees pride in the older woman’s eyes. “We are so happy, beti, ” Jasu’s mother says, grabbing Kavita to her large bosom in a spontaneous embrace. “May your son live a long life and bring you much happiness. Just as Jasu has for us.”
“ Hahnji, sassu . Thank you. I will go dress him in this now.” Kavita can’t remember ever seeing such a show of generosity or emotion from her mother-in-law. She feels her cheeks flush, a rising tightness in her chest as she turns away. She pushes her way through the guests, who are all drinking chai and admiring the baby. She has felt nothing but love for her son during these weeks she has been alone with him. But now, the adulation of others makes her cringe, the shameless celebration in his honor fills her mouth with a bitter taste, the bitterness of raw green wood.
When the pandit arrives for the ceremony, the two dozen relatives gather around him in the crowded drawing room. Jasu and Kavita take their places on the floor next to the pandit, with Jasu holding the baby in his lap. The pandit lights the ceremony fire and begins by offering prayers to Agni, the god of fire, to purify the proceedings. He begins chanting, invokes the spirits of the forefathers, and asks them to bless and protect this child. The priest’s melodic voice is soothing. Kavita looks deep into the flames and istransported back to the stone steps of her morning pujas . The scent of incense mixed with ghee rises in the air, and she closes her eyes. Images flash through her mind—Daiji’s face between her knees, the red-lettered sign on the door, the clanging iron gate of the orphanage.
“Precise time and date of the baby’s birth?” she hears the priest asking from a distant place. Jasu answers him, and the pandit turns to his astrology chart to determine the boy’s horoscope. Kavita feels her body tense even further. This reading will determine everything in their son’s life—his health, prosperity, marriage, and today, his name. After some deliberation, the pandit looks up at Jasu’s sister, seated next to him. “Choose a name beginning with V .” All eyes in the room turn to her. She thinks for a moment, then a smile comes to her face and she leans down to the baby’s ear to whisper the chosen name.
“Vijay,” she says, beaming. Jasu turns to the crowd, and holds up his son for everyone to see. The pandit gives an approving nod, and everyone else cheers, repeating the name to one another. Somewhere in the noise of the crowd, Kavita hears a lone voice, an infant’s piercing cry. She looks at her son, who is sleeping. Her eyes dart around the room, trying to find the origin of the cry, but she sees no other babies. Jasu places the baby in a cradle decorated with garlands of bright orange marigolds, white and red chrysanthemums, and begins to rock it from side to side. The other women in
T HE NEXT MORNING, THE HOUSE HUMS WITH ACTIVITY . K AVITA’S mother has been up early frying jalebis, the sticky sweet delicacies essential at their celebrations. Family members arrive in a steady stream, each one seeking out Kavita and Jasu to offer their congratulationsand gifts. When Jasu’s parents arrive, they take Kavita aside and hand her a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
“It is a new kurta-pajama, ” Jasu’s mother says, “for the baby to wear at the namkaran .” She smiles so widely her missing molars are visible. Kavita unwraps the package with care and pulls out a maroon silk outfit, embroidered with gold thread. A cream-colored vest covered in small round mirrors and a pair of impossibly small pointed ivory shoes complete the outfit. Kavita strokes the smooth fabric. It is genuine silk, and the embroidery is done by hand. The outfit is beautiful, impractical, an indulgence, and one that Jasu’s parents cannot easily afford. She looks up to thank her mother-in-law and sees pride in the older woman’s eyes. “We are so happy, beti, ” Jasu’s mother says, grabbing Kavita to her large bosom in a spontaneous embrace. “May your son live a long life and bring you much happiness. Just as Jasu has for us.”
“ Hahnji, sassu . Thank you. I will go dress him in this now.” Kavita can’t remember ever seeing such a show of generosity or emotion from her mother-in-law. She feels her cheeks flush, a rising tightness in her chest as she turns away. She pushes her way through the guests, who are all drinking chai and admiring the baby. She has felt nothing but love for her son during these weeks she has been alone with him. But now, the adulation of others makes her cringe, the shameless celebration in his honor fills her mouth with a bitter taste, the bitterness of raw green wood.
When the pandit arrives for the ceremony, the two dozen relatives gather around him in the crowded drawing room. Jasu and Kavita take their places on the floor next to the pandit, with Jasu holding the baby in his lap. The pandit lights the ceremony fire and begins by offering prayers to Agni, the god of fire, to purify the proceedings. He begins chanting, invokes the spirits of the forefathers, and asks them to bless and protect this child. The priest’s melodic voice is soothing. Kavita looks deep into the flames and istransported back to the stone steps of her morning pujas . The scent of incense mixed with ghee rises in the air, and she closes her eyes. Images flash through her mind—Daiji’s face between her knees, the red-lettered sign on the door, the clanging iron gate of the orphanage.
“Precise time and date of the baby’s birth?” she hears the priest asking from a distant place. Jasu answers him, and the pandit turns to his astrology chart to determine the boy’s horoscope. Kavita feels her body tense even further. This reading will determine everything in their son’s life—his health, prosperity, marriage, and today, his name. After some deliberation, the pandit looks up at Jasu’s sister, seated next to him. “Choose a name beginning with V .” All eyes in the room turn to her. She thinks for a moment, then a smile comes to her face and she leans down to the baby’s ear to whisper the chosen name.
“Vijay,” she says, beaming. Jasu turns to the crowd, and holds up his son for everyone to see. The pandit gives an approving nod, and everyone else cheers, repeating the name to one another. Somewhere in the noise of the crowd, Kavita hears a lone voice, an infant’s piercing cry. She looks at her son, who is sleeping. Her eyes dart around the room, trying to find the origin of the cry, but she sees no other babies. Jasu places the baby in a cradle decorated with garlands of bright orange marigolds, white and red chrysanthemums, and begins to rock it from side to side. The other women in
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