Excerpt from Seeking Fortune Elsewhere by Sindya Bhanoo, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I am knitting a sweater made of fine green mohair for Renuka. After the kariyam, she is going to Adelaide to spend time with her son. I was the one who said, "Better to go. It is depressing to be alone right after." Her son is the manager of a movie theater there. He was not able to finish his graduate degree at the University of Adelaide, but somehow found a way to stay in the country. "Good for him," I said, when Renuka told me. I meant it.

Those of us at Malliga Homes with children in America rank higher than those with children in Dubai or Qatar. Somewhere in between fall those with children working in Singapore, Australia, England, Germany, and the rest of Western Europe. Africa falls below the Middle East, both because of what people imagine it is like there, and because it is so hard to get to. What our children do, how much money they make, whether our grandchildren are bright or mediocre—all of this matters. It is a tragedy to have a brilliant child and a dunce of a grandchild.

The yarn for Renuka's sweater cost me four rupees per gram, much more than I typically pay, but I decided it was worth it. The sweater will bring out the green in her eyes and it will be good for the Australian winter. I checked the climate in Adelaide on the Net; it can drop down to ten degrees. But also: Death turns you cold, and I want Renuka to stay warm. In the months after my husband died, a chilliness plagued my being, even in hot weather.


My husband's death was what brought me to Malliga Homes. After he died, Kamala flew to India and spent two weeks with me in our Chennai flat. She insisted that I leave my red bottu on my forehead, and keep all my jewelry on.

"This is not the end of life for you, Amma. I don't believe in such things," she said.

I did insist on taking off my toe rings. I never liked them. Initially, they would not come off; Kamala tried to help, and gave up. They had been on for forty-five years, the silver rings tightening around my toes as I became fatter over the decades, my flesh curling over their edges. Finally, after soaking my feet in soapy water for thirty minutes, I had success.

Kamala collapsed on our cane sofa, the same one she spent years reading on as a teenager, her legs leisurely stretched out while she held Somerset Maugham high above her head. Her eye makeup was smeared from crying. Both of us had done a lot of that.

"Amma, come lie down with me," she said, a cricket ball in one hand and a brochure in the other. My husband loved cricket, and she had been carrying the ball around with her since her arrival.

"Move," I said.

We lay squished on the sofa, side by side, hip to hip, mother and daughter. She handed me a brochure.

"It's called Malliga Homes," she said. "Look how nice the grounds are. Like Brindavan Gardens."

The brochure was from Kamala's friend in America, Padmini Venugopal. Padmini's parents had just moved into Malliga Homes.

"'All the comforts of home, without any worry—and so many friends,'" Kamala read out loud. She looked at me eagerly.

"Consider it," she said.

"What friends?"

"You will make them."

"Are you telling me what to do? What if I had stopped you all those years ago from going to America alone?" I asked.

"This is not the same thing," she said. She sat up and climbed over me to get off the sofa. "It is not the same thing at all."

The following night, I had a small fall in the bathroom. Though I was not seriously injured, Kamala became unstoppable. I could hear the determination in her voice, like when she was a girl and wanted a peach Melba from Jaffar's on Mount Road. She would not stop until I relented.

"You are my responsibility now," she said. She was combing my hair, because I sprained my right wrist in the fall and could not do it myself. "I've already made a booking. I paid the deposit today."

From Seeking Fortune Elsewhere by Sindya Bhanoo. Used with permission of Catapult. Copyright © 2022 by Sindya Bhanoo.

This story was originally published in Granta magazine.