By Kayla Lang
We bonded over a bowl of curry. He, an Indian-Parisian immigrant. Me, a homesick Malaysian. He smiled as he took my biryani order and asked where I was from. Our conversation flowed easily, the easy camaraderie of displaced individuals from a shared culture.
I reminisced about being called ‘thangachi’ by the Tamil aunties, and he delighted in sharing a common dialect. I went up to the counter to settle the bill, satisfied with a warm fuzzy feeling. That was, until he said, “See you soon, akkah.”
The first thing I did back home was to check the mirror for white hair.
There’s a long way to go from akkah to aunty, no reason for the narrator to worry yet 🙂
I remember the day I was called Aunty like it was yesterday. I was only 30. I still carry the sting with me. Love this piece!
What a charming story. I enjoyed it.
I agree. A very charming story.
I used to flinch whenever I got called Aunty…I’ve finally accepted that status. Lovely story.