When I introduce myself, I always say, “I’m Henna, like the tattoo.” I don’t skip a beat on the latter bit because I can’t stand being called Hannah. The next question, as is the rule of small talk, is invariably, “Do you have any?”
The idea of getting a tattoo—something you needed to hide from your parents or cover up at work. Wine, for the longest time, had the same connotation in the Indian culture I grew up in, especially for women. Aunties didn’t drink.
