I nodded. Ananya never did any evening prayers in Ahmedabad. I heard noises
from the other room. They sounded like long wails, as if someone was being
slowly strangled. I looked puzzled and uncle looked at me.
‘Carnatic music,’ uncle said. ‘You know?’
I shook my head.
‘Then what do you know?’ he asked and sank into The Hindu waiting for me to
respond.
I had an urge to run out of the house. What the fuck am I doing here in this
psycho home? I heard footsteps outside.
‘Sorry,’ Ananya said, coming in.
I turned to look at her. I was seeing her after two months. She wore a cream-
coloured cotton sari with a thin gold border. She seemed prettier than I last saw
her. I wanted to grab her and plant the biggest kiss on her lips ever. Of course,
things had to be different with Mr Hindu-addict Grumpyswami in front of me.
‘Hi Ananya, good to see you,’ I greeted her like a colleague at work. I kept my
hands close to my body.
‘What? Give me a hug,’ she said and uncle finally lost interest in The Hindu.
‘Sit here, Ananya,’ he said and carefully folded the newspaper like he would
read it again every day for the rest of his life.
‘Hi dad,’ Ananya said and kissed her father on the cheek. I felt jealous. ‘Oh,
mom is singing,’ she said, upon hearing her mother shriek again.
‘Yes, finally,’ Ananya’s father said. ‘Can you tell the raga?’
Ananya closed her eyes to listen. She looked beautiful but I had to look away
as uncle eyed every move of mine.
‘It’s malhar, definitely malhar,’ she said.
Uncle nodded his head in appreciation.
‘How many ragas are there?’ I asked, trying to fit in.
‘A thousand, yeah dad?’ Ananya said.
‘At least. You don’t listen to Carnatic music?’ uncle said to me.
nora
(Nora)
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