Column | Phuphee serves some lemonade
One balmy July afternoon, a few weeks before I got married, two families from the village arrived at Phuphee’s house. We were sitting on the verandah, tumbling in and out of a light sleep after a heavy lunch of riste te paalak (meatballs with spinach) when we saw them walking towards us. The families were in laws. ‘Aaaze paizihaa aesyii zamdoad batte khyoan [we should have had yoghurt and rice for lunch today],’ Phuphee whispered, as both clans got closer to us. The boy’s father was striding in front. He greeted Phuphee and launched into a barrage of accusations about how modernisation had reached the heart of the village and sown its devilish seeds in every home. Phuphee raised her hand and he was forced to stop mid-sentence. She pointed to the young woman in the group, and asked her to c...