through the slats of the shutters, but for once she didn’t care. She had to write, she had to be alone, she could hardly believe what was happening.
Inside the house, the servants, Ma, and Auntie weren’t napping as they usually did. They were preparing the house for the arrival of a guest so important that Uncle was coming home early. The house sparkled with an extra measure of polish, and Grandmother had splurged on some special sweets from the corner shop.
Asha could hear the twins waking from their nap and clattering downstairs to play hopscotch on the front path. They didn’t know that this was an unusual day-the first time a girl in their generation would receive a wedding proposal, a herald of changes to come.
Uncle had received a message from another man in the neighborhood. Apparently this fellow had a nephew who was so besotted with Reet’s charms that he could no longer wait to secure her as his. A formal proposal would take place today over tea, with the two older men meeting for a private discussion.
Oh, S.K., if only my sister weren’t so gorgeous. It’s always getting her in trouble, and now the worst has happened. At first I thought the whole thing was a joke, but now I’m not so sure. Ma was eighteen when she married Baba, and Auntie was seventeen, Reet’s age, when she married Uncle. He was twenty- six or so, just like Reet’s Lusting Idiot.
I’m NEVER letting them marry my sister off. Especially not to someone who proposes without knowing anything about her except what she looks like. In America, girls our age are standing up for their rights, marching in protests, changing the world. But Reet and I aren’t in America. Not yet, anyway. Come on, Baba, COME ON!
Maybe Uncle’s just going through the motions for courtesy’s sake. But why doesn’t Reet tell him
straightaway that she has NO desire to get married? She’s already calling this suitor Y.L.I. for “Young Lusting Idiot” when the two of us are alone. So why doesn’t she speak up for herself?
But I know the answer to that question, don’t I? Her lack of protest, as usual, is for our mother’s sake. The Jailor loosened the chains when the attention first started, but that didn’t last long; now he seems to have retreated quite a bit. Ma talked a mile a minute yesterday and this morning, bragging to Auntie and Grandmother that she herself had received twelve proposals before the age of twenty. I wanted to scream. She’d never bothered to tell Reet and me that particular detail about her past. Is that some fantastic accomplishment? I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m sure Uncle isn’t taking this seriously. At least I hope not. But if he IS trying to marry my sister off, he’ll have to deal with ME first.
The pencil snapped in half because she was clutching it so tightly. Suddenly she slammed her diary shut, stood up, and twisted like a cobra about to spring.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded of the shutters across the way.
To her surprise they flew open, and so did the window behind them. Their neighbor leaned out. “What are you writing?” he retorted.
“None of your business,” Asha answered, checking quickly to make sure the coconut trees barricaded themfrom sight. If anybody saw them talking, her reputation in the neighborhood would probably be tarnished forever.
Not that I care,
she thought, noticing for the first time that her watcher’s hair was longer than that of most young men his age. He was wearing only an undershirt, and she felt a twinge of irritation that his arms were more muscular than any recluse deserved. “I
don’t
like to be spied on,” she added with a scowl, folding her arms across her chest.
“I haven’t been spying on you,” he said. “I’ve been studying you.”
That made her even madder. “Oh. Studying. And just how is that different than spying?”
He swallowed, hesitated, and took a deep breath. “I want to- I’d like to … paint a portrait. Of you.” The last
Inside the house, the servants, Ma, and Auntie weren’t napping as they usually did. They were preparing the house for the arrival of a guest so important that Uncle was coming home early. The house sparkled with an extra measure of polish, and Grandmother had splurged on some special sweets from the corner shop.
Asha could hear the twins waking from their nap and clattering downstairs to play hopscotch on the front path. They didn’t know that this was an unusual day-the first time a girl in their generation would receive a wedding proposal, a herald of changes to come.
Uncle had received a message from another man in the neighborhood. Apparently this fellow had a nephew who was so besotted with Reet’s charms that he could no longer wait to secure her as his. A formal proposal would take place today over tea, with the two older men meeting for a private discussion.
Oh, S.K., if only my sister weren’t so gorgeous. It’s always getting her in trouble, and now the worst has happened. At first I thought the whole thing was a joke, but now I’m not so sure. Ma was eighteen when she married Baba, and Auntie was seventeen, Reet’s age, when she married Uncle. He was twenty- six or so, just like Reet’s Lusting Idiot.
I’m NEVER letting them marry my sister off. Especially not to someone who proposes without knowing anything about her except what she looks like. In America, girls our age are standing up for their rights, marching in protests, changing the world. But Reet and I aren’t in America. Not yet, anyway. Come on, Baba, COME ON!
Maybe Uncle’s just going through the motions for courtesy’s sake. But why doesn’t Reet tell him
straightaway that she has NO desire to get married? She’s already calling this suitor Y.L.I. for “Young Lusting Idiot” when the two of us are alone. So why doesn’t she speak up for herself?
But I know the answer to that question, don’t I? Her lack of protest, as usual, is for our mother’s sake. The Jailor loosened the chains when the attention first started, but that didn’t last long; now he seems to have retreated quite a bit. Ma talked a mile a minute yesterday and this morning, bragging to Auntie and Grandmother that she herself had received twelve proposals before the age of twenty. I wanted to scream. She’d never bothered to tell Reet and me that particular detail about her past. Is that some fantastic accomplishment? I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m sure Uncle isn’t taking this seriously. At least I hope not. But if he IS trying to marry my sister off, he’ll have to deal with ME first.
The pencil snapped in half because she was clutching it so tightly. Suddenly she slammed her diary shut, stood up, and twisted like a cobra about to spring.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded of the shutters across the way.
To her surprise they flew open, and so did the window behind them. Their neighbor leaned out. “What are you writing?” he retorted.
“None of your business,” Asha answered, checking quickly to make sure the coconut trees barricaded themfrom sight. If anybody saw them talking, her reputation in the neighborhood would probably be tarnished forever.
Not that I care,
she thought, noticing for the first time that her watcher’s hair was longer than that of most young men his age. He was wearing only an undershirt, and she felt a twinge of irritation that his arms were more muscular than any recluse deserved. “I
don’t
like to be spied on,” she added with a scowl, folding her arms across her chest.
“I haven’t been spying on you,” he said. “I’ve been studying you.”
That made her even madder. “Oh. Studying. And just how is that different than spying?”
He swallowed, hesitated, and took a deep breath. “I want to- I’d like to … paint a portrait. Of you.” The last
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