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“You India?”

“No…No…!”

“Sri Lanka?”

“No lah! I am Singaporean!” Retorting irritatedly to the taxi driver’s

inquisitiveness, she subsided into an angry silence.
But he would not be silenced. He prattled off a few words in Malay.
Since she didn’t understand a single word, she remained silent.

“You tak tau Melayu?”

“Tak tau lah!”

“You say you’re a Singaporean. But you don’t know Malay?”

She found it hard to ignore the ridicule in the taxi driver’s voice.

“I don’t know Malay. I Indian”, she snapped.

“Oh… So you’re an Indian… did you marry and come here?” The
taxi driver gloated; his guess had been right after all.
Soon they arrived at her destination. In her haste to get off, she
almost threw the fare in the taxi driver’s face. She slammed the door
closed, and walked briskly towards her house.
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“Can’t you go to the market for at least one day? Why must I do all
the work every single time?”

“Why are you shouting and nagging first thing in the morning?
What the heck…! Can’t I have some peace even for a day?” he shouted
back, before disappearing into the papers again.

She walked into the kitchen in a huff and plonked the two bags of
groceries on the dining table. The heat had drained her of energy. She
longed to slide onto the chair for a much-needed rest. But that was
impossible. It was already nine and a whole load of work waited her.

Her father-in-law would soon be back from his night security job.
Breakfast for him always had to be Iddili, Thosai or some other Indian
delicacy. Bread or any other western dish would not do. After all, had
they not brought her from India for this?

She busied herself, packing the vegetables and meat neatly away in
the refrigerator.

“What did you buy today?” As if on cue, her mother-in-law appeared

and made a beeline to the fridge. Opening the door, she pulled out each
of the plastic bags her daughter-in-law had so painstakingly packed away
just a few minutes earlier.

Looking on in frustration, she thought to herself, “Of course, she’ll

leave these for me to put away – again.”

Unfazed by her daughter-in-law’s obvious unhappiness, she

continued to rummage through the packets, finding fault with every item
her daughter-in-law had bought. Picking up her favourite chicken, prawns
and brinjal, she placed them on the table. The message was clear – these
should be prepared for lunch.

She had planned to prepare fish curry with Murungaikkaai

(drumsticks). With a sigh, she picked up the fish and placed it in the
freezer.

Continuing to ignore her daughter-in-law’s obvious unhappiness, her

mother-in-law pulled out a chair and sat down, asking at the same time,
“Have you made the Thosai yet? Hurry up! I am giddy with hunger.”

She was just about to take a sip of the fresh soya bean milk she had
bought at the market. Her anger threatened to explode. Instead, she
dumped the contents into the sink and proceeded to make the Thosai.
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She walked into the room. Her glance fell on her 13-year old
daughter, Suba, standing in front of the mirror and painstakingly applying
lipstick. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking that she had not touched
a lipstick till she had started working.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Going to the movies with friends.”

“Do you call what you’re wearing a dress? Might as well go out in
your underwear. Your skirt is short enough.”

Glaring at her mother in anger, Suba threw her comb down on to the
dressing table: “Mum, do you know how truly narrow minded you are?”
she stormed.

“Why are you screaming? Girls should be refined and sedate. Had I
spoken to my mother like this, she would have thrashed me.”

“Mmm… if I were like you, people would also tease me as a country

bumpkin from India. This is the latest style and fashion.”

“Fashion, my foot! If you want to go out, change into more decent

clothes,” she shouted back in anger.

Awakened from his sleep by the shouting, her husband ’s harsh

voice intercepted their argument: “What’s all the fuss here?”

“Just look at your daughter. She wants to go out dressed like this!”

“Why? You want her to be also like you… to swaddle herself in a

sari wherever she goes? Different occasions demand different styles of
dressing. How would you know anyway? Let her dress the way she likes.”
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His sarcasm triggered the frustrations and anger that she had been
bottling up the whole day. Snatching her plate from the table, she strode
to the dustbin and emptied the contents into it.

Her actions infuriated him. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook

her violently. “Hey, what’s your problem? What have I said or done that
you’re acting like this?”

“Let go of me..!”

“Answer me first. Who are you angry with?”

“Let me go! I have plenty of work waiting…”

No point in discussing anything with him. She knew how it would

end – in verbal fights. This was a daily occurrence, after all.

“Anyway, do I have the luxury of quarrelling with my husband and

running home to my mother? Not when she is hundreds of miles away,”
she mused to herself as she proceeded with her washing.

“I have asked you to employ a maid!” He was not about to give up

the fight.

“Who’s going to pay?”

“Not me. I’ve already told you. There are bills for the house; car,
insurance…and so on. Nothing left for the maid fees. Why don’t you pay
from your salary? She is going to be helping you!”

As though he had done his duty, he disappeared into the hall.