“Neelima will be here soon,” Sowmya said, and looked at the mangoes spread out in small piles on the cold stone floor of the hall. “We should wait for her before we start cutting the mangoes. Does anyone want coffee in the meantime?”

There was a round of nods and Sowmya slithered away from the living room into the kitchen once again. I followed her this time and sat down on a granite counter as she puttered around.

“Have you learned to cook yet?” she asked, and I grinned sheepishly.

“Some,” I said. “But not Indian food. It takes too long and it’s too spicy to eat every day. And if I really feel like it, I just go to a restaurant; they do a better job than I ever can.”

“You should learn to cook,” Sowmya admonished. “What are you going to do when you get married? Make your husband eat outside food?”

Outside food versus homemade food! In India there was no contest. The food cooked at home by the wife was the best food. No restaurant could compare to that and in any case why would you spend money going to a restaurant when you could get homemade food?

“I will teach you how to cook,” Sowmya suggested, and I shook my head, laughing.

The idea of learning how to cook to feed Nick was amusing. Once in the matrimonial section of a Silicon Valley Indian magazine there was a girl’s profile that had made quite an impact on Nick.

23-year-old, beautiful, BA-pass Telugu Reddy girl looking for handsome and financially settled Telugu Reddy boy in the U.S. Girl is 5’4", fair, and is domestically trained. If interested, please apply with photograph.

After that Nick started complaining that I was not “domestically trained.” It was a joke between us, but a woman not knowing how to cook was unacceptable to Sowmya.