Bhavani and Uma

Bhavani must have been in her late twenties. She was a large woman. Not fat or plump, but wide and tall, with a blocky face to match. Her skin was unblemished, dark as roasted coffee. She had wiry hair, springy and curly, straining to get out of the short, ragged-tipped ponytail that used to follow her head, pointing backwards but never to the ground. I am sure it a trick of my weak memory, but I cannot help but picture her as having lips as dark as the rest of her skin was. Bhavani had cracked heels, like most women that work barefoot on rough, wet floors washing clothes and utensils.Bhavani would speak little, like most housemaids. It may have been because her dialect was slightly different from ours, but I doubt if Bhavani would care about nuances of pronunciation and accent. She had a beautiful smile. Not because her white teeth contrasted with her skin tone, but because of the strange expression in her large eyes. God knows how many other houses she worked in. She would come walking in the heat of mid-morning, when sham's mother was cooking for lunch, filling the house and the yard with an exquisite aroma. Bhavani would have a smile on her face. The smile rarely wore off. A cheerfulness that I now look back and find myself longing for.