Shobhana felt the firm ground sliding away from under her feet and everything suddenly went
black before her eyes.
On regaining her consciousness before she opened her eyes she heard one of the cops telling the
other, “This is the worst part of our job, conveying the news of the death of a dear one. I just hate doing
this.”
Shobhana opened her eyes slowly. Her face felt wet. The police officers had probably sprinkled
water on her face to bring her out of her fainting spell.
She sat up and rebuked them, “You are lying! Buku, I mean Arijit, is at a hotel in Philadelphia.
He has to attend a conference there tomorrow.”
The policemen shook their heads, their faces expressionless. One of them said, “Your son never
made it to Philly. He was on his way there when the driver of a tractor trailer in the adjacent lane lost
control of his vehicle and slammed onto his car. Mr. Sen and his companion were killed instantly if that
is any consolation. Do you have any relatives around here? Anyone you want us to call?”
“No, just leave me alone!”
“Will you be ok?”
“Will you guys just leave?” Shobhana nearly screamed.
The cops placed a card on the table and left silently.
As soon as they were gone Shobhana called Buku on his cell phone. The call went to his voice
mail. ‘Well that was no surprise. Who in their right minds would answer the phone at this time of the
night’ Shobhana thought.
She went to the kitchen and started making preparations for her cooking. She kneaded the
dough for loochi/pooris. Buku loved loochi, fried brinjal and kheer in addition to mutton curry and
biryani. She went on cooking nonstop till 7 am in the morning, all the while trying to call Buku on his
cell phone. By ten her restraint broke as realization slowly sank in. She wept aloud with immense pain.
Shobhana switched