By Amulya Malladi
A beautiful new novel—full of wit and warmth—from the bestselling writer of The Mango Season.
In stylish Silicon Valley, Priya has every thing she needs—a loving husband, a profession, and a home—but the single factor she wishes such a lot 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 maintain a tin roof over their heads—but she wishes a greater schooling for her talented son. burdened via her kin, Asha reluctantly exams into the satisfied moms residence: a toddler farm the place she will lease her basically asset—her womb—to a childless couple abroad. To the dismay of family and friends, Priya areas her religion in a lady she’s by no means met to make her desires of motherhood come true.
Together, the 2 girls realize the easiest and the worst that India’s emerging surrogacy has to supply, bridging continents and cultures to deliver a brand new lifestyles into the world—and renewed wish to one another.
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Extra resources for A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel
Cried Eamonn. He rushed to the window and saw the little ﬁgure. ’’ he cried in disbelief. Stung to hear her new friend attacked before she had even laid eyes on her, Aisling moved to the window. But she couldn’t see her. Elizabeth and her case had moved into the house. There was a scream up the stairs from Peggy. ‘‘Mam, she’s here, Donal’s after opening the door for her. He came out of his bed and we never saw. . ’’ Eileen ran down the stairs from the breakfast room on the ﬁrst ﬂoor. In the big, shabby door, silhouetted against the light, was the frail shape of Violet’s daughter.
Who was Peggy? What was all this about a Bible, a kitten, the Virgin? Was all this rubbish about Aisling to do with how you pronounced her name? Violet read the little note again. It seemed happy and preoccupied, she thought, that much at least was good. But no questions about home, no hint of missing anyone. Of course, this was only the second letter that Elizabeth had written in her life. There had been no reason for her to write letters home before. Sighing slightly, Violet picked up the other paper.
For four evenings she had had very hot baths and a glass of gin. It was just a relaxing thing to do after a day’s work. She didn’t even think she would worry Father Kenny by telling him about it in confession. It wasn’t a sin or anything, it was just something women did to get their bodies back to normal when they were a bit overstrained. Maureen had seen pictures of nurses bending low over fevered brows and holding the hands of brave young men while reading temperatures and noting pulses and being generally indispensable.
A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel by Amulya Malladi