I think I must have been a peasant in a previous life. There is something deeply satisfying about the routines of farmlife, always having something to do, crops to be sown, fields to reap, food to prepare. The first day in the village I was trying my utmost to avoid any social faux pas, not daring to talk or sit unless instructed to, but I quickly realised that even though Indian marriages are formal, they are anything but stiff. Women talk and children run around during the cermonies, not really paying attention to what is happening or caring that they might be heard. By the second day I was starting to feel so comfortable that I just simply joined the villagers in their lunch on the courtyard grounds. Mr Black Cat looked pleasantly surprised by the scene, and told me that I had just made him proud.
And on the third day I got bored of just watching everybody else milling around, so I simply put myself to work peeling vegetables with the men and later on, making roti with the women. I think it was there and then that half of the women decided to adopt me, and the rest of the night I had to turn down offers of staying a various houses. Before I left the village I was made to promise to return, but not without a husband.
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