Linksshifter II

A Path Between The Waves - ~

In her circumstances, Sonali was always reassured by things staying the same: a safe procession of little small things that meant that the wheels of the universe were still turning as they always did. Wake up. The house smells like breakfast. Check your phone – no mail from Naresh still, again, despite Azerbaijan being like two hours ahead and he knows what you're going through. Sit up with the creak of the bed, either the hard raw dawn light coming in (like now) in what passes for summer here, or seemingly still in the middle of the goddamned night. Think to yourself: I have got to get out of this place.

The smell of fresh-baked dhokla was already coming up from downstairs, and Sonali clicked her phone off and pushed herself up, on, forward into action. Get down before baba yells at you again; get breakfast down as fast as possible, school bag and a gym bag with your boots and your work clothes already packed; get out, get out, and go drill against the wall of the old rectory until the school gates open: no use hanging around here. She stopped, buttoning up her uniform blouse, and picked up the trilobite amulet that Naresh had given her the last time he was back in town; if her brother wasn't going to actually be here for her, by phone or by text, she could at least pretend he was listening. Sonali pushed her hair out of the way and closed up the thin chain running through the hole bored through the fossil, and let it fall back against her chest as she closed up the blouse and shook her blazer to make it look a little less like she'd just left it draped over the chair overnight.

Down in the kitchen, Ajay was whining because Anjali'd hit him with her spoon and taken one of his tomatoes, but Sonali's tray was intact for the moment. Mum was scolding Anjali, who was biting down firmly on her stolen tomato slice, making sure it didn't escape, but baba picked up his newspaper again with a snort as she came through the doorway, like he'd been about to shout for her but was satisfied, at least for the moment, that she wasn't openly defying him. Sonali dropped her bags at the foot of her chair and turned to toss a couple bread slices in the toaster – there was porridge today instead of dal, and that meant western bread instead of puri – before sitting down to attack her bowl of mango first.

Her father flapped the top of his newspaper down and scowled. "What are you doing that for? You're almost grown; you can eat like a civilized person. You took forever coming down today, but you're not late yet. Slow down. I won't have you eating like that – next thing, you're going to be one of those, running around shoving a Greggs roll into your face."

Sonali stood up to take her bread out of the toaster, laying her fried tomatoes on top, alternating bites and spoonfuls of porridge. "I am late though baba but," she said, barely looking up from her plate. "I've got work the day, so I was going to go train before school, make sure I got my reps in so I can keep my place."

He put the newspaper down at the side of his tray, almost violently. "What? Why? Weren't you listening yesterday? I told you, you are not playing football any longer. You are sixteen years old; it's not something young women should be doing."

That stopped Sonali, her mouth hanging open, the porridge spoon hovering in midair. "What? You were serious? Now?! Baba, you're seriously going to say that? It's not the Seventies any more, nobody cares."

He struck the table with his paper. "I care. This is my house, and my family; you are my daughter, and as long as you live here, you will abide by my rules. No football. We have indulged you all of your life, maybe too much, but this is the way it is. I'm not telling you to leave school, or stop work, or go in purdah or anything like that, but you will behave the way a nice young woman behaves, and that does not include running around after a ball like a child. My decision is final."