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‘Madhuri Dixit. We Dixits kind of rock, you know,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Food?’
‘Mexican.’
‘Dream holiday destination?’
‘Paris, with you.’
‘Favourite sport?’
‘Tennis,’ he said, but hurriedly added, ‘though I do like cricket,’ when he saw my face fall further.
‘What relaxes you?’
‘Looking at you goofing around,’ he said, smiling.
I grimaced. I had zero correct answers and, as always, Purva had made sure that I bore no public embarrassment.
‘Do you want this gold bangle? This was the prize for the winner, you know.’ I asked, pouting and pointing at the gold bangle that Anju Aunty had given me.
Purva guffawed. ‘You absolutely crazy girl,’ he said, smiling as he planted a tender kiss on my forehead. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ I mumbled and leaned in for a kiss. Purva always kisses slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. For him, I know the earth stops spinning. Sometimes, just sometimes, I feel a little bit like I know he feels. But mostly…
‘Koooochhiiiieee, Beta Koocchhiiieee,’ a voice came from downstairs, breaking the spell.
To my sheer horror, I realized that it was not Anju Aunty’s voice. Mum. Mum, who had spent twenty-five years calling me Kasturi, was now calling me Koochie.
‘Koochiieeee Beta...’ said Mum again, as I looked on, appalled. ‘Come down, Beta … Anju Aunty is leaving.’
Pitajee clasped his hand to his mouth and laughed uncontrollably for an eternity before he regained his composure. Looking down the staircase, he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Kooochiiee is here, Aunty … she is coming down now! Koochiiee,’ he said, keeping his face straight with obvious difficulty, ‘let’s go down.’
I stuffed the pallu of my sari into the waist band, turned around sharply and, without any warning, lunged for Pitajee’s jugular. Purva and Anu tried, in vain, to stop me.
‘Bhabhiji!’ shouted Pitajee, shaking with laughter, right before my hands clasped around his neck. ‘You are the very epitome of poise!’
Before long, we had all tumbled into a mass of limbs, one on top of the other.
5
Vijaywada & Sons Headquarters, Delhi, 11 January 2013.
‘That just cannot be true, Mum!’ I said into my cell phone, aghast at what I had just heard. I twiddled the ring on my finger, still not quite used to it. I could not believe my ears. My cubicle partner – P.P. Padma – busy tapping away at her laptop, glared angrily at me.
‘It is, Koochie Beta!’ Mum hollered in return.
‘What are you saying?’ I said, too shell-shocked to even reprimand Mum for calling me Koochie. In the last week, after I left home to come back to Delhi, I had had eleven fights with Mum. Seven of them were because of ‘Koochie’. I digress.
‘The truth,’ said Mum.
‘Say it again,’ I said, disbelievingly.
‘Arjun is in love with you.’
‘Dear Lord!’
‘Don’t “Dear Lord” me, Beta. It’s rude. If you were younger, I would have spanked you for this.’
