Prime Time 7, Coursebook plus Semester Self-checks

75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 135 out. How you held him. The night in his apartment (has it only been three months?) when he took your hands in his warm strong ones, asking you to move in with him, please, because he really needed you. You try to shut out the whispery voice that lives behind the ache in your eyes, the one that started when you said yes and he kissed you, hard. Mistake, says the voice, whispering in your mother’s tones. Sometimes the voice sounds different, not hers. It is a rushed breath of air, as just before someone asks a question that might change your life. You don’t want to hear the question, which might be how did you get yourself into this mess, or perhaps why, so you leap in with that magic word. Love, you tell yourself, lovelovelove. But you know, deep down, that words solve nothing. And so you no longer try to explain to him why you must tell your mother. You just stand in the bathroom in front of the curved mirror and practice the words. You try not to notice that the eyes in the mirror are so like her VIP file Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni is an award-winning Indian-American author and poet. Her works largely focus on the experience of South Asian immigrants. V eyes, that same vertical line between the brows. The line of your jaw slants up at the same angle as hers when she would lean forward to kiss you goodbye at the door. Outside a homeless drunk shouts something. Crash of broken glass and, later, police sirens. But you’re hearing the street vendor call out momphali, momphali, fresh and hot, and she’s smiling, handing you a coin, saying, yes, baby, you can have some. The salty crunch of roasted peanuts fills your mouth, the bathroom water runs and runs, endless as sorrow, the week blurs past, and suddenly it’s Saturday morning, the time of her weekly call. She tells you how Aunt Arati’s arthritis isn’t getting any better in spite of the turmeric poultices. It’s so cold this year in Calcutta, the shiuli flowers have all died. You listen, holding on to the rounded o’s, the long liquid e’s, the s’s that brush against your face soft as night kisses. She’s trying to arrange a marriage for cousin Leela who’s going to graduate from college next year, remember? She misses you. Do you like your new apartment? How long before you finish the Ph.D. and come home for good? Her voice is small and far, tinny with static. “You’re so quiet … are you OK, shona? Is something bothering you?” You want to tell her, but your heart flings itself around in your chest like a netted bird, and the words that you practiced so long are gone. “I’m fine, Ma,” you say. “Everything’s all right.” (From: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Arranged marriage; adapted) Talking about the text a) Describe the situation of the narrator: • What situation does the narrator find herself in? • Why is this a problem? b) Analyse the way in which she talks about her mother: • What is their relationship like? • How does she describe it? c) Use the word bank and explain the different concepts of love presented in this text. Role play: Mother calling Imagine the narrator’s mother is calling and Rex accidentally answers the phone. a) With a partner, write down the conversation between mother and daughter that follows. Use passages from the text as an inspiration. b) Act out this conversation in class. 3  Word bank Love to fall head over heels in love • love at first sight • to love sb. to bits/to death • to be love-struck • true/deep love • first/puppy love • love marriage • platonic love • perfect/passionate love • mothering love • smothering love • love of your life • parental love • to care for • to fall for • to have a crush on • to have an affair (with) • to go out with • to live with • to move in with W 4  69 Nur zu Prüfzwecken – Eigentum des Verlags öbv