Epilogue
She followed me from Srivilliputtur to Australia, and waited as I bided time. Ancient Tamils say the smallest denomination of time is a nimesa—a blink of the eye. Eighteen blinks, they say, make one kastha. The seconds, minutes, and hours it took for three months to pass was how much time it took me—she was there in the kitchen as I tempered spices, whisked curds into milk, brewed tea. She was there when I dived into the ocean, opening my eyes underwater to catch the sunlight marbling the brim of her world.
Andal was there when I said goodbye.
What do you say to the man you fell in love with twenty-six years ago? What do you say to him when the skeins of memories, of your love and despair, have unravelled? We walked to the end of the garden we had built and the stream at the bo
