My Favorite Aunt

Kala is my favorite aunt. She’s also my only aunt. Even if I had a dozen aunts, she would still be my favorite. She doesn’t have any kids, so I’m sort of her substitute kid. She’s not judgmental like my mom. I can tell her stuff and she just listens. Sometimes she gives me good advice. She likes to do cool things, too, like rollerblading. She’s the best.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “my favorite aunt.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “My Favorite Aunt”

  1. She was not my favorite aunt. She was large and loud, with a deep voice and a faint mustache and breasts that felt like marshmallows when she pressed us against her in a brief hug.

    She wasn’t loving, or sweet, or cuddly. It was only after her death I came to love this awkward woman.

  2. My favourite aunt sat on a humungous four poster bed . She had it brought all the way from her family mansion in the village and had it reassembled in the centre of her bedroom . Then , she had an assortment of mattresses placed on it . Then , came her favourite floral patterned bed sheet. Large purple flowers with a showy yellow centre . Dots for pollens , large parrot green leaves , red and pink butterflies darting in and out of this dense foliage . It was like sitting atop a jungle .

    Then she had a hubble -bubble . She would shout for the boy , and he would rush in , blowing gently at red hot embers of burning cow dung cakes . He would reverentially place them in a scrubbed brass pot , and tobacco and water in other two interconnected pots . It was an intricate process, very fascinating to watch . Then he would yank a crisp hanky out of his pocket , place it gently on the mouth piece and take a gentle , a very gentle drag . Satisfied , coughing , he then would proffer her the tube . She would accept , like a high priestess , and he would bow away , his eyes streaming , red with smoke .

    There was a rumour that this aunt was a” begum “of sorts , in her village . No one knew for sure . It was Kolkata , the metropolis , and a great leveller. Others said she was just a rich heiress. Either way , we knew she had migrated from Bangladesh . She spoke fondly of her village “haveli” , and stories of fabulous wealth .

    She had a shrine to her selection of Gods and godmen installed in her room . A huge bunch of thick handmade incense sticks would burn at this altar , all the day long . That made her room real smoky . The Hookah and the altar .

    I have vivid memories of entering her room , and seeing her sitting atop that mound of a bed , cross legged,black curly hair open , clad in a handloom saree , wreathed in smoke . She reminded me of Lewis Carroll’s Absolem.

  3. My favorite aunt was the eldest of three sisters. She had to leave school to secure a job during the Depression. Of the three girls, she did not marry until in her thirties. Unfortunately, she never had children after miscarrying twin boys. It was rare but her personality could sometimes bounce from her usual chipper smiling self to a nasty person in a second. Except for those very rare outbursts, she was the go-to aunt for a good laugh and a hug. She loved music, as do I. Aunt Helen was definitely a terrific gourmet cook and baker; nothing made her happier than having company over for dinner. She had a heart of gold and would volunteer at her church and Veterans homes. She enjoyed taking her nephew and nieces to the beach every summer. It was sad that she would have made a terrific mother but never had a child. What I remember most is that she was the one in the family that I could always talk to when I had a problem and she would listen – give advice if I asked – and shore up my self-confidence before hugging me and saying goodbye.

  4. My favorite aunt just moved into an assisted living cottage. When I visited her last week, she was the same beautiful, caring, concerned aunt I had always known. Now she will have other caring, concerned people to help care for her.

  5. I never knocked. Her door was always open for me. Her simple home was filled with love…. and mysteries. My Auntie Zee lived on the bayou and I’d visit her after school and every day during the summer. When I was an infant, Mama brought me to her because the city medicine did nothing to break my fever.

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