“Amuuuuu!” Matongini scrunched up her aged eyes shading them with her hands to look into the distance as she called out for her granddaughter. The thin wrinkled skin on her throat stretched and the veins swelled up as she did she so. In her other hand she kept waving the red scarf that she usually used to attract Amu’s attention. “What is the point of shouting yourself hoarse Owui[1]?” said Shuddho her 20-year-old grandson lazily from one corner of his cot where he had been sprawled out since morning. “As…
