Her face lit up instantly. ‘Oh my God! That’smassive. Congratulations, Jai.’
‘Thanks.’ I nodded.
She tilted her head. ‘Aren’t you happy?’
I hesitated, sliding a glance at her. ‘This … isn’t how I thought it would feel.’
She looked at me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The deal.’ I paused. ‘I thought there’d be … more. I’m happy, of course; I worked hard for it. But it … it feels like a box has been ticked. Nothing else.’ The words surprised me. I never said such things out loud. Not even to my closest friends. Especially not to my employees.
‘Do you know why?’ she asked softly.
My lips pressed together.
‘I know what to do. Let’s celebrate it.’ She beamed, then leaned forward. ‘Can you please drop us at Babulnath Temple instead?’ she asked Dilip.
I sighed loudly. ‘We need to go back to the office, Ananya.’
‘I blocked off two hours, but we got done in forty minutes. We have time.’
‘To celebrate by visiting a temple?’ I raised a brow.
‘By eating the best dosa in Mumbai.’
Dilip glanced at me in the rear-view mirror, waiting for my word.
‘It’ll be worth it,’ Ananya said, bright-eyed and persuasive. ‘I promise.’
‘Alright.’
Her grin widened.
Fifteen minutes later, we were standing in front of a small roadside stall opposite Babulnath Temple. It had navy awnings, a faded signboard that read ‘Anna Dosa’, plastic stools and two men flipping dosas onmassive irontawasbehind a steel cart. It smelled of butter, spices and food poisoning.
I didn’t expect a five-star restaurant, not on this street. But I’d imagined walls. A kitchen. A table. The bare minimum.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I said. ‘This is unhygienic. We’renoteating here.’
‘I’ve been coming here for the past six years. It’s fine,’ she insisted.
I looked at the cart. The plastic stools. The open flame.
Rekha Mom would have had an aneurysm if she were ever around Anna Dosa. I could already hear her voice.We’re Advanis. We don’t eat street food. What if you get sick? What if someone takes a photo? What will people think?
‘One bite,’ Ananya said. ‘If you don’t like it, we’ll leave.’
She wasn’t here. And I was tired of living by her rules. ‘Let’s do this.’
A young boy came over with menus, and Ananya placed our order.
‘Sit.’ She sat on a plastic stool and tapped the empty one beside her.
Barely two minutes had passed, and our dosas arrived – crispy, golden and folded over masala potatoes. The sambar was steaming, and the coconut chutney was pale and cold.
I had a bite.
Paused.
