22
My father never calls me. I have no idea why he did that night. I have no idea why
he did that night. I wanted to sleep before the misery of tuition and office began
all over again. But at eleven that night, Ramanujan knocked on the door.
‘What?’ I called out. Since the day Ananya visited, I hardly spoke to my
flatmates.
‘There’s a call for you.’
‘Who is it?’ Even Ananya never called me this late.
‘Your father. Can you ask him not to call at this hour?’ Ramanujan yawned.
I froze at the mention of my father. I prayed my mother was OK. Why would he
call me? ‘Hello?’
‘Am I speaking to my son?’
I found his addressing me as his son strange. We had never had a one-to-one
conversation for the last three years.
‘It’s Krish,’ I said.
‘That’s my son only, no?’
‘If you say so,’ I said.
Silence followed as two STD pulses passed.
‘I’m listening,’ he said.
‘To what?’
‘To whatever my son has to say to me.’
‘There isn’t anything left to say. Why have you called so late?’ I said in an
angry voice.
‘You sent your mother your first salary cheque?’
‘Yes,’ I said after a pause.
‘Congratulations,’ he said.