Memoir Writing - Family Tales 2
When I was about nine, I practically saw my grandfather’s sister jump into the well. I called her Nanima. I was brushing my teeth, and just happened to go outside, when I saw her take the plunge. I ran to my father and told him, nobody believed me. Then they came with me to check, on repeated forcing and prodding, and saw her swimming inside the well. A swimmer cannot drown. I thought perhaps they knew she was good at swimming and therefore hadn’t paid heed to my words. They wouldn’t take her to a pond (we were in the city, there were no ponds in the city, those luxuries only existed in the village), therefore she had jumped into the well – to swim. Then the entire morning was spent in fishing her out of the well, with everyone crying ‘mad woman’ out loud.