Sunday Afternoon with the Aunties
On Sunday afternoon, the house was full of aunties. Their bright saris swished like soft waves, and the smell of sambar and ghee filled the air.
Maya sat on the windowsill, hugging her knees. The aunties laughed loudly, clinking bangles and passing steel bowls. “Come help us, Maya,” called one aunty, sprinkling coriander.
Maya hesitated. The kitchen felt too noisy, too busy. Then she saw an aunty trying to lift a heavy pot of rasam. The pot wobbled dangerously.
Maya jumped down and ran. “I’ll hold it!” she said, grabbing the other handle. The two aunties smiled at her, their foreheads shining with tiny sweat drops.
Soon Maya was stirring, tasting, giggling. Wrapped in the auntiesimportant, like she belonged right there in the middle.’ chatter and the steam of lunch, she felt warm and