Candles and Curry and Cultural Confusion

March 7, 2013

Their condo was beautiful. Kind of amazing when I consider how recently they arrived to Massachusetts from Sri Lanka as barely-20s.

I was going over for dinner, but it seemed that I was arriving for afternoon tea. There was not a single dish in sight in that magnificent kitchen, and not the slightest scent of curry.

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We stood in the kitchen while she made us tea, and then we took a tour of the upstairs, and then we sat at the dining room table and talked some more, endlessly.

Those cutie pies. They had married so young, and remain so happy, so in love, so joyful at the new evidence of their successes.

Around 8:30, they asked me if I was hungry. I said I could certainly eat.

I commented on the candles as she removed the dishes from the oven and heated them in the microwave. “Yes, the candles,” she said. “Did you smell anything when you came in?”

“Yes,” I said. “It smelled like candles! They are beautiful.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “she loves her candles. They’re just so expensive!”

“Yes,” she grimaced, “but you know, when you cook, then the whole place smells like curry, and it gets into my clothes and my hair, and then at work, people think we’re Indian.”

 

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