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‘Right now!’ she said, in a happy sing-song voice and then paused ‘Why? Any problem, Beta? Aren’t you here to spend the evening till Purva and Vikki return?’
There was no way out.
‘Oh … yes … yes ... no … Auntyji …I mean no problem … I will make tandoori parantha today.’
‘Mughlai,’ she said gently.
‘Eh?’ I asked, lost.
‘Mughlai parantha, Beta, mughlai,’ she corrected me, smiling.
I felt faint. What does Mughlai parantha even look like, I wondered, allowing Anju Aunty to lead me to the kitchen so that I could cook Mughlai paranthas for her, Vikki and Purva.
7
The Kitchen, Anju Aunty’s Apartment, Delhi, 6.30 p.m.
I took a deep breath and looked around.
‘So, Beta, what should I get for you?’
‘Mughlai parantha,’ I said ruefully.
Anju Aunty laughed heartily. ‘Good sense of humour, Beta,’ she said and I tried hard not to grimace. ‘So?’ she continued.
‘So, what?’
/> ‘What are the ingredients?
‘Ahh.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Ahh,’ I said. After a couple of minutes, during which a debate raged in my head, I said ‘flour’ with a finality in my voice.
The bell rang before Anju Aunty could say anything. She hurried out.
6.32 p.m.
Internet. I immediately fished out my phone but the stupid browser would not work.
I felt my pulse race, my heart beat faster, my breathing become difficult.
6.33 p.m.
Mum. Without further ado, I dialled her number.
‘Betu,’ said Mum chirpily.
‘Mum, don’t call me that,’ I said curtly. The recent conversation with Anju Aunty about the Betus and the Betis was still fresh in my mind.
‘I call you “Koochie”, you have a problem. I call you “Betu”, you have a problem with that also. What should I call you?’
‘Use the same name you have used for the last quarter of a century,’ I said in a firm voice.
Silence.
‘What have I called you for the last quarter of the century?’ said Mum, perplexed.
