8 December, 1930,
Pollampallai, Madurai
9:45 PM
**Dear Madhvan,**
The winter mist has grown thicker, and the trees are now bare, stripped of their leaves. The greenery seems as rare as a glimpse of the Eid moon, only faintly visible. This morning was exceptionally gentle, bringing joyous news, full of delight and excitement. I didn't tell anyone about the big thing I seem to be forgetting today, but it still escapes me. My time in the missionary school was one of my greatest experiences, yet I craved to read novels like *Jane Eyre* and *Rebecca*. After a month's gap, I finally have the chance to write in my diary. As always, I won't leave anything out.
Patti (grandmother) was preparing a rangoli, drying rice for the design, while Patten (grandfather) was busy gathering garlands and other pooja items. Pongal is only a week away; it falls on the 13th of this month, perhaps on a Sunday. Just this morning, Meenu dragged me out of my warm blanket. I had no desire to step onto the icy cold floor of our home, yet she managed to pull me out.
It was bitterly cold, and I was shivering. I convinced her to let me take a warm bath. Afterward, I applied vibhuti (holy ash), made two long braids of my black hair, and wore my new lavender-colored hand-knitted sweater blouse. It has become quite popular in Pollampallai since Madam Victoria arrived at her heritage cottage here. Her attire inspired many girls, including Meenu and me, to ask Rangaswamy, the local tailor, to recreate it for us.
Our town of Pollampallai is greatly influenced by British ways, with British tourists and officials frequenting this place. Madam Victoria's daughter, Jennifer, who is about our age, has captured the hearts of many local boys with her deep blue, ocean-like eyes, radiant skin, and elegant, high-heeled boots. Meenu despises Jennifer because she suspects Srinivasan, whom she secretly adores, is infatuated with her.
Now you might wonder who Srinivasan is. He's the only son of the new ranger who recently transferred here from Kanchipuram. Meenamma first met him when we visited Patten's coconut grove. He accidentally arrived there, having been directed to our grove instead of the nearby palm grove. Meenamma was instantly drawn to him. But upon discovering his fascination with Jennifer, she came to meet me this morning, and now she's taking me to the coffee plantations for a private talk.
As we prepared to leave, I found Patti cleaning brass lamps near the swing. She narrowed her eyes at us and asked sternly in Tamil, "Where are you both off to?" I froze, but Meenamma whispered in my ear, "This Patti is tougher than a guard in a palace." She pinched me from behind, making me yelp.
"Nothing, everything is fine!" I said to Patti, who glanced suspiciously at Meenamma. When she warned us not to waste time, I quickly pointed to Patten, who was engrossed in the newspaper. Thankfully, Patten came to our rescue. He loves coffee, and I used that to our advantage by asking if we could bring some beans back for him from the plantation. With his approval, we managed to escape Patti's watchful eyes.
We finally reached the plantations, panting from the run. Meenu sat beside me under a tree, catching her breath. I noticed her new silver anklets, sparkling and intricate. When I asked, she told me they were real Hyderabadi silver, brought by her uncle. We sat in silence for a while before she suddenly asked, "Why do local boys fall so quickly for these foreign girls, while Englishmen barely spare a glance at us?" I confessed I didn't know much about the British mindset. My own heart is occupied with thoughts of Madhavan, who is away in London.
Meenu laughed, calling me like a character from Devdas—lost in love and devoted to Madhavan, with no thoughts for anyone else. Sometimes her remarks make me laugh, but she is braver than me. While she dreams of a life with Srinivasan, she boldly defies anyone who challenges her. If only she knew whether Srinivasan had any feelings for her at all.
As for me, I am still here, waiting for you to return. There's only a week left before Pongal. Will you be back before then?
Yours,
Shubhu
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