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I groaned out loud. ‘Kasturi,’ I reminded her.
‘Oh, that,’ she said, a little disappointed.
‘You chose the name, Mum!’ I said.
‘But Beta…’
‘Mum, I need help,’ I cut in. There was no time to lose. ‘Mughlai parantha,’ I said, urgently and cryptically.
‘Okay. What do I do with them?’ Mum said, her voice mimicking mine.
I snarled in frustration. ‘Mum! How do you make them?’
‘I don’t.’
‘What!’
‘I don’t make mughlai paranthas!’
‘Why not?’
‘I believe in feeding my family healthy, nutritious…’
‘Mum!’ I cut in again. ‘I really need…’
‘Kasturi,’ said Mum, now cutting me short. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that it’s rude to speak when someone is trying to say something? These CAT coaching centres, they actually teach young people how to not let others complete their sentences. That is why all you MBA people...’
‘Mum … I just need the recipe,’ I wailed, now close to tears.
‘Kasturi, Beta, you are losing it … I am getting worried. Do you want me to book an appointment with the doctor? Pankudi Aunty’s friend was … you know … behaving a little like you and they took him to this doctor for the mentally challenged and…’
I cancelled the call. I could hear Anju Aunty speak with someone at the door. There was no time.
6.36 p.m.
‘Pitajee,’ I barked into the phone.
‘Darling.’
‘Shut up.’
‘I’m hurt.’
‘I don’t care…’
‘How rude!’
‘Shut up!’
‘Okay.’
‘Mughlai paranthas!’
‘What about them?’
‘How do I make them?’
‘How, and more importantly, why would I know?’
