Ganesha seated pen and ink drawing

You will laugh, but the hall has beaten me again. The marquee poles arrived on Saturday without their bolts, the florist sent carnations the colour of wet cardboard, and the electrician took one look at the generator and went home. Mrs Okafor from the council says the licence is in the post, which is what she said last month. I have been sitting on the back step with a cup of chai going cold, counting what else can go wrong.

Then this morning I found Dad's brass bowl at the bottom of the box of kitchen things, wrapped in a tea towel that still smells of cardamom. You remember it, the one with the lotus worked into the rim and the elephant-headed god sitting on its side, the one Grandmother filled with modaks for every new shop opening. I had forgotten I packed it. I set it on the trestle table with a handful of sugar-dusted sweets, and because there was nobody else to talk to, I told the empty room exactly what was broken.

The power came on at four. I do not know whether that was the bowl, the sweets or the electrician finally answering his phone. The licence turned up on Thursday, tucked under the door with a takeaway menu. I still cannot decide who I should thank, so the bowl now sits on the shelf above the till, where it can keep an eye on the paperwork.

Love, Asha