‘This is great,’ I said as I had the masala paniyaram, a tastier cousin of the idli
and shaped like a ball.
The Raintree staff brought a trolley with ten chutneys to choose from.
‘I swear, Delhi needs to taste this. We haven’t gone past the paneer masala
dosa yet,’ I said as I took a spoonful of the tomato tamarind curry with
idiyappams.
‘You like it? I can make it at home,’ Ananya’s mother said.
I realised that the right moment was near. Maybe at dessert, I told myself. We
scanned the dessert menu. Ananya’s father chose a coconut ice-cream. The deep
love for this fruit among South Indians is inexplicable. The ice-cream arrived in an
actual green coconut shell.
‘Superb,’ Ananya’s father said, a signal I took as ready get-set, go.
‘I want to talk about something important,’ I said.
Ananya’s father looked up from his ice-cream.
‘If it is OK?’ I amended.
Uncle nodded. Ananya’s mother looked at Ananya and me.
‘Manju, you too,’ I said. He kept his face so close to the ice-cream bowl, his
spectacles were smeared.
I had everyone’s attention. ‘Hi,’ I cleared my throat. ‘Uncle, aunty, Manju, I
came here six months ago. It is no secret why I chose Chennai as my first
posting. However, I cannot stay here forever. I met Ananya almost three years
ago, and apart from our first fight, I’ve loved her every day since that day.’
Ananya took my hand in hers from under the table.
‘And we thought our love is enough reason for us to get married. We thought
our parents will meet at the convocation and things will be smooth. Well, we were
wrong.’
The waiter came to collect the ice-cream plates. I told him to come five minutes
later.
‘We could have run away. We could have forced our decision on you. However,
Ananya told me she had this dream of both sets of parents smiling on our
nora
(Nora)
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