Page 127 of One Indian Girl
‘No, you have to finish your lunch, Aryan,’ I said. I don’t know how I ended up feeding Neel’s child. It was awkward, sure. Yet, somehow, seeing Neel taking care of his children made him more real, more human.Is this what it would be like to have a family?I wondered what Neel thought when he saw me feed Aryan. His favourite distressed debt analyst could wipe tomato sauce off a toddler’s face too.
Neel looked at me and smiled.Do I make a good family person, Neel?
‘Found it,’ Kusum said as she held up her iPhone. She noticed me with Aryan.
‘Oh my God, I am so sorry. Aryan, you can eat on your own.’
‘I like didi feedy me,’ he said.
Kusum put out a hand for the fork. I surrendered it. She was staking her claim. She wanted her family back. Aryan went into his mother’s arms. My lap, and even I on the inside, felt empty. I realized I wanted this too. I wanted kids. I wanted messy pasta dishes. I wanted iPhone-addicted daughters who had math as their favourite subject.
‘Say thank you to didi,’ Kusum said.
Aryan didn’t say thanks. He bent forward and kissed me on my cheek. He had his father’s charm. I melted at the little boy’s display of love. I wanted to kiss him back. I didn’t. I couldn’t. How could I? It’s somebody else’s family.Will I have a son like this one day? Will I ever have kids?
‘I better leave,’ I said. ‘I remembered my part-time help is coming. She doesn’t have the keys.’
‘Oh, you haven’t finished your lunch,’ Kusum said.
‘I am quite full. Really, thanks so much,’ I said.
‘Really?’ she said. ‘We hardly spoke.’
‘I am sure we will meet up soon,’ I said.
‘Of course,’ Neel said, adding a comment when there was no need to.
‘Bye, Siya. Bye, Aryan,’ I said.
‘Bye, Feedy Didi,’ Aryan said and everyone laughed.
Feedy Didi dashed out of the food court.
29
For most women, it is that time of the month. For my mother, it is that time of the week. The time when she goes hysterical on the phone and wants one thing more than anything else in the world—my marriage.
‘Not today, mom, please. Any other day,’ I said.
‘Why? It’s Sunday. It’s the only day you are relaxed and can talk properly.’
‘I am not relaxed today,’ I snapped. I opened my laptop and logged on to Facebook.
‘Why? Are you working?’
‘No.’
‘So? You are at home, right? Did you go to that Ikka shop to get the sofa bed?’
‘IKEA. Eee-Kee-Aaa.’
‘Whatever. Did you get a sofa bed?’
‘No. I went there this afternoon. I liked one. I didn’t get a chance to buy it.’
‘Why?’
‘Leave it, mom. I told you. Not a good day.’
