Recently one of my relatives passed away, she was old and had multiple illnesses and it was expected. We had people in and out throughout the day, everyone knew about the passing, it’s a small village and so news spreads pretty fast. The shopkeepers, the older men, the far away relatives, everyone came. The men formed groups and continued to chat away talking about politics and expenses, while the women tried to find comfort in each other’s warmth to dwindle away the sorrow of one’s passing. It was customary- every time someone came they were to drink a hot cup of tea, and so the women of the house were chained to the kitchen doing monotonous chores, even in the midst of grieving. In the middle of all of this I was desperate for something no less than Harry potter’s invisibility cloak, so that I didn’t have to hear my name being called out every two seconds. I was the youngest in the house and a young girl, so naturally I was inevitably dragged into the monotony of making tea and orange tang, serving them to men and others who I hadn’t met before. I watched and watched as the number of glasses piled up in the sink, were washed and again ready to be presented , further talks for breakfast the next day also began.
I watched the women running around with no time to grieve while the men sank into couches.
