28
'I have a confession to make,’ Riya said. We were sitting on a jute
charpoy on the haveli’s roof, looking up at the millions of stars you
could never see in the Delhi night sky. 'What you said about Bihar and
its simplicity in college had something to do with me accepting the
Patna offer.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘And that you hoped to run into me?’
‘Yeah, right.’ She laughed, so I couldn’t tell if she was being
sarcastic.
‘Don’t worry about my mother,’ I said.
‘I’m not. Why should I be worried?’ she said and smiled at me.
‘All mothers are the same, I guess.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Nothing. She’s Rani Sahiba. Literally, the queen of her castle. She
is entitled to say whatever she wants.’
‘She’s not bad at heart,’ I said.
‘I know. Did she mention me? When I went to the kitchen?’
‘Not really. Why?’
‘My clothes. My divorce. Anything?’
‘Nothing important,’ I said, thinking of little else but how to
casually hold her hand.When I did gather the courage to do it, I lunged
forward suddenly and grabbed her hand. It was not a subtle move.
‘Careful,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘My left wrist. It’s a little tender.’
‘How come?’
‘An old injury.’
‘Basketball?’
She gave a hesitant, non-committal nod. I released her left: hand
and held her right.
‘Your mother is downstairs,’ she said.
I took her words as encouragement. She had not said that holding