My Life, My Writings. Author: Kamala B. Sarup My aunt began to drink water from the pot and took a long breath. "How can I know who is at the door?" I said. I was cooking rice. I found no time to see that the gas stove was not burning because it was too wet. "Perhaps they are maternal uncle and cousin, who want to stay here for the night," she said as she stepped down the stair carrying clothes, smiling at me.Column: Editorial/Opinion Read more about My Life, My Writings.