It was a late September afternoon. Autumn had taken hold; the earth had shed her vibrant costumes from spring and summer, and was getting ready for some much needed rest. I was sitting on the verandah watching Phuphee pottering about in her kitchen garden. She walked towards me with a small kraenjul (wicker basket) full of turnips and a big smile on her face.

‘Waitch sa [look],’ she said, showing me her basket full of turnips.

‘Walle, gogji rogan josh rannao [come, let’s cook turnip rogan josh],’ she said, walking towards the kitchen. Inside, I watched her perform her magic and turn the humble turnip into a dish fit for a wedding feast. She was nearly done when one of the helpers came in to inform her that a lady was waiting for her. She motioned for me to join her and directed the helper to cook extra rice for lunch.

In Phuphee’s room, a woman was waiting. She lived locally. Her name was Asma. She was the headmistress of a small girls school on the outskirts of the village. After greeting her, Phuphee asked her how she could help.

For a while the woman was quiet, but you could see the storm clouds gather in the corners of her eyes until they could no longer be held back and they fell in reams.........

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