"It was a cold November morning, and I had travelled with my family to our ancestral temple in a village in Tamil Nadu. My sister's 11-month-old baby was to be tonsured for the first time a religious head-shaving that in Hinduism is a way of discarding the evil eye and removing any negativity from past lives; a new start. My wife drove, but asked me to park the car while she went inside with our son and her parents."
"Panicked, my mind tried to make sense of how she'd come to be there she must have sat down, assuming I'd already parked and how badly injured she was. She curled into a foetal position as I sat down beside her and gently placed her head on my lap. Does it hurt anywhere, paati (granny)? I asked. She nodded, pointing to her leg. I slowly pulled back the torn sari near her knee. The flesh was missing."
"You've been hurt, but we'll take care of it, I promised. No one will take care of me just let me sit, she pleaded. Villagers started to gather, but kept their distance. One man said the woman slept on the streets near the temple and was often seen begging. A woman chided her for always sitting too close to cars. If you don't do something now, no one will take care of her, and she'll die, a man muttered before leaving."
A family travels to an ancestral temple in Tamil Nadu for a baby's tonsuring. The narrator attempts to park the car when a man runs toward the vehicle, prompting a reverse that pins a thin, frail homeless woman. The woman, named Chinnammal, curls into a foetal position; her knee is badly injured and flesh is missing. The narrator comforts her, places her head on his lap, and promises care. Villagers gather but keep their distance, noting she sleeps near the temple and begs; some chide her while others fear she will die if unattended.
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