By Amulya Malladi
A gorgeous new novel—full of wit and warmth—from the bestselling writer of The Mango Season.
In fashionable Silicon Valley, Priya has every little thing she needs—a loving husband, a profession, and a home—but the only factor she desires so much is the kid she’s not able to have. In a Southern Indian village, Asha doesn’t have much—raising youngsters in a tiny hut, she and her husband can slightly hold a tin roof over their heads—but she desires a greater schooling for her proficient son. careworn via her family members, Asha reluctantly tests into the chuffed moms residence: a child farm the place she will be able to hire her in simple terms asset—her womb—to a childless couple abroad. To the dismay of family and friends, Priya areas her religion in a girl she’s by no means met to make her desires of motherhood come true.
Together, the 2 girls notice the simplest and the worst that India’s emerging surrogacy has to supply, bridging continents and cultures to carry a brand new lifestyles into the world—and renewed desire to one another.
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She did not look back at me. “I’ll listen,” I said. “OK. I think this whole thing—the fear, Joe’s peculiar reaction to your handling of that fear, and your extremely peculiar reaction to his reaction—is all about control. Control. Up here you can control your world…and what a world you’ve made. It’s orderly, it’s serene, it’s beautiful. Very few people on earth can live like you and Joe do, and almost no one can do it except in places like this. In the Domain. The famous Domain. You control your world, and you control Joe, and he controls you.
It neither escaped me nor pleased me that I was, by that time, a campus icon. It was a beautiful little wedding, if I do say so, with a spare sweetness to it. The few contemporaries of mine who attended often speak of it. My senior-year roommate, Francesca Leatherberry from Louisville, who is a vice president of a large Richmond bank now and comes back often to the Mountain, says it couldn’t have happened anywhere but in the Domain, nor with anyone but Joe and me. “So medieval, somehow,” she has said more than once.
I thought he would be pleased with my accomplishment, and I knew he liked the Buckhead Ritz Carlton. He stayed there when he was in Atlanta for fund-raising trips with President Day or at alumni functions or SMLA meetings. ” I said, leering over the rim of my vodka and tonic. “I could get a new nightgown for you to rip off. Or something exotic in the way of marital aids. ” He did not speak, and he did not look at me. “I just don’t think we should both be away at the HILL TOWNS / 47 same time, Cat,” he said finally.