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24 Priya peeked at her mother, who was mixing the milk and rose water into
the dough. She wore a pair of American blue jeans that she had bought at the
mall, but over the jeans she had slipped her long yellow salwar kurta blouse. It
reminded Priya of a snake that had shed only half its skin and was waiting for
the rest to slip off. As much as she had wished her mother looked more
American that day at school, she felt a glimmer of fear to see it coming true.
She imagined all her mother’s beautiful saris and salwar suits buried in the
back of the closet, replaced by blue jeans, sundresses, and crisp American
slacks. What would come next—her mother frying meat patties on the stove
each night?
25 Priya and Mummy began rolling the gulabjamun dough into balls. “About
as wide as two fingers,” Mummy always said.

26 As they worked in silence, Priya’s mother glanced at her.
“Maybe your class would like to try Indian food sometime?”

27 Priya swallowed thickly. “Maybe,” she said. She tried
to picture blue-eyed Lindsay biting into a golden, sticky
gulabjamun. What if she spit it out? What if everyone
laughed? The thought made Priya sick to her stomach.

28 Priya’s mother melted shortening in a large frying
pan, and one by one, Priya began dropping the little
dough balls in.

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