Page 122 - Leadership in the Indian Army

all their love to their old ones. It wasn't fair. A fit of anger claimed her.

Laila went to her room, collapsed on her bed.
When the worst of it had passed, she went across the hallway to

Mammy's door and knocked. When she was younger, Laila used to sit for

hours outside this door. She would tap on it and whisper Mammy's name
over and over, like a magic chant meant to break a spell: Mammy,

Mammy, Mammy, Mammy… But Mammy never opened the door. She

didn't open it now. Laila turned the knob and walked in.

* * *

Sometimes Mammy had good days. She sprang out of bed bright-eyed

and playful. The droopy lower lip stretched upward in a smile. She
bathed. She put on fresh clothes and wore mascara. She let Laila brush

her hair, which Laila loved doing, and pin earrings through her earlobes.

They went shopping together to Mandaii Bazaar. Laila got her to play

snakes and ladders, and they ate shavings from blocks of dark chocolate,
one of the few things they shared a common taste for. Laila's favorite

part of Mammy's good days was when Babi came home, when she and

Mammy looked up from the board and grinned at him with brown teeth.
A gust of contentment puffed through the room then, and Laila caught a

momentary glimpse of the tenderness, the romance, that had once bound

her parents back when this house had been crowded and noisy and

cheerful.

Mammy sometimes baked on her good days and invited neighborhood

women over for tea and pastries. Laila got to lick the bowls clean, as

Mammy set the table with cups and napkins and the good plates. Later,
Laila would take her place at the living-room table and try to break into