Tales of South India

An Efflorescence of Salons

Our first salon had been a dream come true for me. For years, I had imagined hosting an evening of music, dance, poetry, literature and animated discussion, and the salon, when it finally happened, was outstandingly fulfilling beyond my wildest fantasies. I could have happily basked in the success of this salon for an indefinite length of time, but then the requests and questions started trickling in. When are you having the next salon? I missed the first salon, could you please have another one? I heard all about this salon thing from a friend of a friend and would love to be invited to the next one. And then, from my fellow salon hosts, much younger and infinitely more energetic and industrious than I was, am, or ever will be, an email which countenanced no excuses, dithering or procrastination. The email presented Salon 2 as a fait accompli, complete with date, and a theme: conflict.

ABCD: Part 2

Continued from here.

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, meet me, your narrator. My name is Nagamani Subramanian. I am 62 years old, a widow, and I live alone in a 3 bedroom flat in Alwarpet, Madras. My husband passed away, completely unexpectedly, two years ago, after a massive heart attack. For the first time in many years, almost my entire family gathered together in my home: my two sons and my daughter, my daughters-in-law, my son-in-law, my two brothers. Only the grandchildren, scattered in countries around the world, busy with college and work, could not make it.