My mother and I came back to our room. She pretended nothing had happened.
‘How does this remote work? I want to watch my serial,’ she said.
‘Mom, you could have behaved better there,’ I said.
My mother didn’t answer in words. She responded in nuclear weapons. Tears
rolled down her cheeks.
‘Oh please,’ I said.
My mother didn’t respond. She switched to her favourite soap where a son
was throwing his old parents out of his house. She cried along with the TV
parents, correlating their situation to hers. Yeah right, she was staying in Park
Hyatt and ate four kinds of ice-cream and bread pudding for dessert. But, of
course, all sons are villains playing into the hands of their wives.
‘We can’t have a conversation if you watch this stupid serial,’ I said.
‘This is not stupid. This is hundred percent reality,’ she retorted.
I switched off the TV. My mother folded her hands. ‘Please have mercy on me,’
she said, ‘don’t subject me to this.’
The doorbell rang. I opened the door. Ananya stood there, her face equally
wreathed in ears. When estrogen attacks you on all sides, there is not much you
can do.
‘What happened?’ I said.
‘Dad’s chest is hurting,’ Ananya said, fighting back her sobs.
‘Should I call a doctor?’ I said.
‘No, he is fine now. But something else can help.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘Is your mom inside? Can I talk to her?’ she said.
‘Sure,’ I stepped back.
Ananya came in and told my mother who was sitting on the bed. ‘Aunty, I think
you should apologise to my parents.’
‘Yes it is always my fault,’ my mother mocked, looking at me for support.
nora
(Nora)
#1