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afflicted.’
    ‘How is he afflicted?’
    ‘He is suffering from madness.’
    ‘How is he suffering? Is he shouting?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Having fits?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Is he tearing his hair out?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Is he biting his neighbours? Biting himself? Is he sleepwalking? Does he stick out his tongue and roll his eyes? Is he rude to strangers?’
    ‘No. He eats and sleeps and takes good care of his hair. He doesn’t shout and he doesn’t bite himself. He has never been rude to strangers.’
    ‘Then he does not exhibit any of the sure signs of madness.’
    ‘But he is sitting up in a tree!’
    ‘Arrange a marriage for him. Then you can rest in peace. You will have no further problems.’
    It is necessary at some point for every family with a son to acquire a daughter-in-law. This girl who is to marry the son of the house must come from a good family. She must have a pleasant personality. Her character must be decent and not shameless and bold. This girl should keep her eyes lowered and, because she is humble and shy, she should keep her head bowed as well. Nobody wants a girl who stares people right in the face with big froggy eyes. She should be fair-complexioned, but if she is dark the dowry should include at least one of the following items: a television set, a refrigerator, a Godrej steel cupboard and maybe even a scooter. This girl must be a good student and show proficiency in a variety of different fields. When she singsher voice must be honey-sweet and bring tears of joy to the eyes. When she dances people should exclaim ‘Wah!’ in astounded pleasure. It should be made clear that she will not dance and sing after marriage and shame the family. This girl should have passed all her examinations in the first division but will listen respectfully when her prospective in-laws lecture her on various subjects they themselves failed in secondary school.
    She must not be lame. She must walk a few steps, delicately, feet small beneath her sari. She must not stride or kick up her legs like a horse. She must sit quietly, with knees together. She should talk just a little to show she can, but she should not talk too much. She should say just one word, or maybe two after she has been coaxed and begged several times: ‘Just a few sentences. Just one sentence.’ Her mother should urge: ‘Eat something. Eat a laddoo. My daughter made these with her own hands.’ And these laddoos must not be recognizable as coming from the sweetmeat shop down the road. The embroidery on the cushion covers the prospective in-laws lean against, and the paintings on the walls opposite, should also be the work of her own hands. They should be colour-coordinated, with designs of fruit and flowers.
    She should not be fat. She should be pleasantly plump, with large hips and breasts but a small waist. Though generous and good-tempered, this girl should be frugal and not the sort who would squander the family’s wealth. A girl who, though quiet, would be able to shout down the prices of vegetables and haggle with the shopkeepers and spot all their dirty tricks and expose them. Talk of husband and children should so overcome her with shyness and embarrassment that she should hide her face, pink as a rosebud in the fold of her sari.
    Then, if she has fulfilled all the requirements for a sound character and impressive accomplishments, if her parents have agreed to meet all the necessary financial contributions, if the fortune tellers have decided the stars are lucky and the planets are compatible, everyone can laugh with relief and tilt her face up by the chin and say she is exactly what they have been looking for, that she will be a daughter to their household. This, after all, is the boy’s family. They’re entitled to their sense of pride.
    But the family could find only one prospective daughter-in-law. She was scrawny and dark. ‘Like a crow,’ said Kulfi and Ammaji indignantly when the first photograph was shown to them by Lakshmiji,