We had come to Ratna Stores in T. Nagar to buy steel plates for my chummery.
I needed four, this place had four million of them. Seriously, every wall, roof,
corner, shelf and rack over two floors was covered with shiny steel utensils. If
direct sunlight fell in the store, you could burn like an ant under a magnifying
glass. I wondered how the store kept track of its inventory.
‘How do you ever choose?’ I said to Ananya as we neared the plates section.
Ananya demonstrated the desired width with her hands to one of the
attendants.
‘Seriously, thanks for helping dad. I think he likes you now,’ she said.
‘Not as much as he likes Harish. I drank his whisky though.’
‘What?’ Ananya said.
I told Ananya about our drinks session.
‘You wore his what to bed?’ she said, shocked at the end of my story.
‘Lungi,’ I said as I paid at the cashier’s counter. ‘What’s so surprising? It is
quite comfortable.’
Ananya raised her eyebrows.
‘I did it for you.’ I looked into her eyes.
She moved forward and even though one could see our reflection in five
hundred frying pans around us, she kissed me. All the Tamilian housewives in
the store turned to us in shock.
‘Ananya,’ a lady’s voice came from behind us.
Ananya turned around. ‘Fuck, Chitra aunty,’ Ananya said, lifting a large steel
tray to hide her face. It was too late as the woman had started to come towards
us.
‘Chitra who?’ I said.
‘Chitra aunty lives in my lane. She sings Carnatic music, with my mother,’
Ananya said from behind the tray.
‘I bought Carnatic music CDs, too,’ I said.
‘What?’ she said.
nora
(Nora)
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