- Vol. 02
- Chapter 06
I used to eye with my teeth biting down on the wood by habit, balancing on my toes, the neglected uneaten crumbs reclining on the plate with countless pockets for more food which my mother keeps refilling with less love and more duty, vestiges of my father's luxurious meal, sizing them up, itching to touch and hurriedly swallow when he isn't looking.At least that's what dutiful wives do on technicolour Malayalam movies - our Sunday evening family ritual. But it's cold and dead and tastes like his saliva that sometimes falls on my lips when he berates.
Now I spoon out my love in lukewarm porridge into my father's petulant lips, crumbs and all.