After my wedding, when people asked me how it was, I always answered the same way: “My mom had a great time.” Enduring is the image of her dancing in her stiff, light-green sari. She stopped dyeing her hair. She had eaten freely and had the only bite of cake I think anyone had at the reception, and so her body was strong and capable and lifted. There was joy there for her in my wedding, even if we each knew, separately, how doomed this was. When she hugged me on my wedding day, she told me to be happy. I wept because I knew I wouldn’t be. We both felt that this was not the place. There’s a
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