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Savitri tai served us daal and subzi with chapatis.
‘Litti-chokha is for dinner, when Ma arrives,’ I said.
'Sounds great,’ Riya said with no noticeable enthusiasm.
‘Everything okay?’ I said.
‘Dad’s been unwell for a while.’
I did count. This was the first time she had shared something
substantial with me.
‘What happened?’
‘He’s a heart patient. The last by-pass didn't go well. It’s not
looking good.’
‘Will you need to go to Delhi?’
‘Probably. I don’t know. They hide things from me,’ she said. I
guess hiding things from one another is a Somani family tradition.
She was looking down at her food, her spoon circling the daal.
Perhaps it was Jobs’s speech that gave me the courage to stand up and
move to her side. I put my arm around her shoulders.
She stood up and hugged me back, though not too tightly.
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.The best doctors in Delhi must be looking
after him,’ I said.
She nodded and sat back down.
‘Sorry.’ she said. ‘I’m such a bother.’
‘It’s not a bother, Riya. It’s okay to be down now and then. And to
talk about, it.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she whispered, more to herself than to me.
We finished our meal. She picked up the plates.
‘Where’s the kitchen?’ she said.
I pointed towards it. I tried to imagine her living in my house
forever. She would never adjust to living in Dumraon, of course. My
crumbling haveli could never be her 100, Aurangzeb Road.
I went to the kitchen and found her washing dishes.
‘What are you doing?’ I said, surprised.