She died before the mango season began. If any Alphonsos go suspiciously missing, it’s her.
Two relatives are competing with displays of grief near her body. Her sister arrives and sets off full throttle. SMACK DOWN. That’s how it’s done kids.
They cremated her in a green saree; she hates the colour. Someone’s going to pay.
Everyone kept saying, “Bhagyawaan hoti. Savasheen geli. (She was lucky. She died a married woman.)” So did my grandfather. Erm? Better you than me?
The body is moved into various positions. Even made to sit up for a while. There is no dignity after death. It’s also a bit like a Joe Orton play.
Cookie, the dog, says fuck all this. Wanders down to the sixth floor and into someone else’s home.
There is a brief tussle about which saree she should wear and where. The one from her maternal home or marital home. Upstairs or down. I have a feeling she doesn’t care. Must be because she offers no resistance. But by all means, go on and complicate this.
I am chided more than once for not wearing a bindi. Sorry, I didn’t get up in the morning and dress for death. Don’t take it personally.