Slipping out of my sandals, I entered the church (as it is the custom in India to enter the church with bare feet as it is considered unholy, I believe, if we don't do so). My grandmother sauntered ahead, and crouched down on her knees on the floor, joining a few other women who were sat on the open mass of the ground in front of the benches.
Most women in the church preferred to do so, seated on the floor rather than on benches. So there were a lot of empty seats when my mom and I slid into one of the aisles. The men are usually separated from the women, sitting on the benches organised on the other side of the church.
The church mass is done in my native language - Tamil and I have a very hard time understanding even a single word of what the priest says. My mind starts to wander to other topics, like school or Protag, for instance and I daydream. There's very rare a time when I actually listened to what the preacher said but I never really gave it the effort - considering, even if I tried, I wouldn't comprehend a word.
It was, on one such instance of day dreaming when I saw them enter the church: my beloved aunt and cousin.