'You're just like your Athai'
She had heard it all her life. And she had fought the statement and its implications every step of the way. She dropped her drawling Palakkad accent. Curbed her darting serpents tongue. Smiled the moment she felt a frown creep on to her forehead. Cut her long, thick curling hair in to an abominable variant of a bob. Eschewed drip dry nylons for cottons even though they took forever to dry in the perennial rains.
As time passed the similarities were less and less obvious. And one day the comparisons stopped.
She looked at herself in the mirror. The hair was still an abominable bob. Her body was still swathed in block printed cottons. But her Athai's hips. Her thighs. Her breasts. They had somehow managed to slip through her prisonguard vigilance and become firmly entrenched in her body.
'You're just like your Athai' she whispered to herself.