Heh, I like this, even though I will admit that imitation can only be taken so far.

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Good-intentioned is how people would describe Kavitha in the years to come, although she was aware neither of the tag or the fact that people talked about her, which, considering her personality, was to be expected. If one asked those close to her family to be more revealing as to her true nature, then they would usually make an embarassed smile and recall fondly the days when she would proudly show to the world that she had learnt how to walk, remarking how even then they knew that she would be destined for great things. That these things never materialized was attributed to the sickness of the society she lived in, and perhaps her weight. "I always told her it would never hurt to lose a few more", a concerned aunt would tell me, and proceeded to confirm that she didn't judge people based on appearances, but that one nonetheless had to be pragmatic and realize the nature of people one was living with. I never thought her to be in the slightest danger of having a problem with her weight, but when I brought this up during my next round of questioning, it turned out that it was a matter of great delicacy, but also secret, shameful gossip. No-one admitted to thinking that it should have mattered, of course, but they all agreed that it was never a bad thing to care about how one looked.

When piecing together these offhand remarks and observations about her soul, there was only one thread of common resent, and that was her belief that others were much like her. Although she was brought up in a family that had traditionally kept its distance from those it did not know, her vivaciousness would sometimes let them dream of one day joining the rest of the world in the happy haze that they imagined from books and movies. Her brother was once so invigorated by her tales of the world she drifted through that he attended a major social event in his best white shirt, only to leave mid-way once he realized that the people there all seemed to stare at him. He began to imagine laughter directed at his shirt, which was till that point his favourite one. After that night, he did not wear it again for fear of reliving those terrible memories, and one winter evening he threw it in the fire, deciding to start afresh.

She would invariably drag her mother into a conflict over her choices, which to her made perfect sense and which were always made based on what she would love to have happen to her. Paying no heed to her family's long history of reserved tolerance of the outside world, she once thought that it would be a particularly brilliant idea to get them to interact with her world. Given how much she enjoyed her own life, and given how she sometimes felt her family were being bored (when in fact they were merely content), such an idea seemed only too obvious. When the news came that her family was to go to her friend's house for dinner one day, her otherwise quiet mother grew noticeably irritated as she stirred the soup on the stove and let the potatoes get over-cooked on purpose. She had done it, perhaps unknowingly, to elicit a reaction from her daughter, and she got one. When Kavitha complained that the food was burnt, her mother lashed out at her and screamed that if she was so picky that she should start cooking for herself. Kavitha became puzzled at this outburst, and started crying in confusion.

The dinner passed without incident, and her family seemed to have a genuinely nice time. She smiled triumphantly, and casually remarked later on how lovely it was, and then got each of her family to agree that yes, it was a delightful evening. Her mother did not speak very much that night, but come the next day she seemed to be back to normal, although the incident of the burnt potato was never spoken of in the house again. Although Kavitha would try to get her friend to come over more often, it never eventuated, but instead both would talk about that dinner for the next twenty years, recalling the pleasant conversation and the sense of the two families bonding. Their parents would meet on occasion and exchange platitudes, always promising to meet again in the future, but neither side made any particular effort to do so for reasons that were perhaps lost in the dirty dishes that were cleaned that night.

No one would ever lose their temper with her, or if they did it would not last very long, because it was known that her heart was genuine as were her motives. This was often put down to the strength of her father's upbringing, which caused her mother to raise an eyebrow that hid years of silent opinions that were waiting to come out. Regardless of where her behaviour came from, it was certain that she passed through life like few others before her. When the time finally came for her to seek her own fortune, she bade farewell to her family with customary tears that no-one saw as over-dramatic, even though the rest of her family remained in control of their emotions. Seeking she did not have to do, for fortune smiled at her and let no harm come near her, and it was then said that she had been blessed at a young age. Another aunt told me a story about her youth, and how a palm reader said he had never seen such a life line, nor did he think would he ever again. From what I know, Kavitha always believed in these readings when she needed to the least.

Many years later, as we all suspected, her good intentions would carry through onto her children, who would become famous throughout their school as the only ones who lacked the sibling-rivalry that was taken for granted by the teachers. It was initially met with suspicion, until it was discovered that she was the mother. The teachers would smile knowingly, recalling the days of their youth and the girl who was something of a legend in these parts.