First thing she does when she wakes up is put her head on her mother's belly to listen to the gurgling of the river that flows inside her. The sound, distinct as Bagmati makes under that bridge that separates two cities, assures her once again that her mother is still here.
Mornings have changed for Siddhi in the last two months. She used to be the last one in the family to wake up. Two months ago, her sister would have finished cooking the morning meal and her mother would have been back after taking rounds of the innumerable temples in the city before she even woke up. Her mother would usually sneak in some gwaramari under her damarkumari shawl, and then when her sister would bring in three cups of tea, the aroma would be too inviting to stay asleep.
"Maa, wake up. I brought tea". While the steaming hot tea cooled down, Siddhi folded the blanket, straighten up the room, covered her mother in a lighter cotton wrap, a gift from her father from his trip to India. She wipes her mother's face with a wet towel and helps her to sit upright leaning against the peeling yellow wall. Now, this was the best part of the morning for her, pouring small amounts of tea in a small cup and coaxing her mother to drink it.
It takes her a long time to finish that tea, few sips at a time. This was the time when she did all her thinking, worrying, planning and all resolving the little problems in her life.