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‘Let go of my elbow,’ I said.
‘Why?’ Ananya said.
‘I see my mother.’
Mother waited at the arrival area. She stood among ten thousand drivers
holding placards with every Punjabi name possible. There were no more Venkats
and Ramaswamis, only Aroras and Khannas.
When people land at Chennai airport, they exchange smiles and proceed
gently to the car park. At Delhi, there is a traffic jam of people trying to hug each
other to death. My mother hugged me tight, and even though it was over the top, I
liked it. No one had hugged me like that in Chennai for the last six months (apart
from Ananya, of course, but that’s a different category of affection). We walked
towards the auto stand. Ananya greeted my mother but it went unnoticed.
‘You are?’ my mother asked me the most important question.
I nodded.
‘What did they serve?’ I noticed she was ignoring Ananya completely.
‘Paneer masala and rice,’ I said. ‘Mom, you’ve met Ananya, remember?’
My mother gave Ananya a fake smile and turned back to me. ‘No rotis?’
‘Mom, Ananya has a one-week stint in her Delhi office.’
‘Where will she stay?’ my mother said, her voice concerned.
‘At the company Guest-house,’ Ananya said.
‘Yes, but she only joins them day after, on Monday. I thought it will be a good
idea if she came home for the weekend.’
‘Whose home?’ my mother asked, aghast.
‘Our home,’ I said. I removed my bags from the trolley at the auto stand.
My mother turned silent. I paid the money at the pre-paid stand.