' I have a confession to make,’ Riya said. We were sitting on a jute charpoy on the haveli’ s roof, looking up at the millions of stars you could never see in the Delhi night sky. ' What you said about Bihar and its simplicity in college had something to do with me accepting the Patna offer.’‘ Really?’ I said.‘ And that you hoped to run into me?’‘ Yeah, right.’ She laughed, so I couldn’ t tell if she was being sarcastic.‘ Don’ t worry about my mother,’ I said.‘ I’ m not. Why should I be worried?’ she said and smiled at me.
‘ All mothers are the same, I guess.’‘ Meaning?’‘ Nothing. She’ s Rani Sahiba. Literally, the queen of her castle. She is entitled to say whatever she wants.’‘ She’ s not bad at heart,’ I said.‘ I know. Did she mention me? When I went to the kitchen?’‘ Not really. Why?’‘ My clothes. My divorce. Anything?’‘ Nothing important,’ I said, thinking of little else but how to casually hold her hand. When I did gather the courage to do it, I lunged forward suddenly and grabbed her hand. It was not a subtle move.‘ Careful,’ she said.‘ What?’‘ My left wrist. It’ s a little tender.’‘ How come?’‘ An old injury.’‘ Basketball?’ She gave a hesitant, non-committal nod. I released her left: hand and held her right.‘ Your mother is downstairs,’ she said. I took her words as encouragement. She had not said that holding
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' I have a confession to make,’ Riya said. We were sitting on a jute charpoy on the haveli’ s roof, looking up at the millions of stars you could never see in the Delhi night sky. ' What you said about Bihar and its simplicity in college had something to do with me accepting the Patna offer.’‘ Really?’ I said.‘ And that you hoped to run into me?’‘ Yeah, right.’ She laughed, so I couldn’ t tell if she was being sarcastic.‘ Don’ t worry about my mother,’ I said.‘ I’ m not. Why should I be worried?’ she said and smiled at me.
‘ All mothers are the same, I guess.’‘ Meaning?’‘ Nothing. She’ s Rani Sahiba. Literally, the queen of her castle. She is entitled to say whatever she wants.’‘ She’ s not bad at heart,’ I said.‘ I know. Did she mention me? When I went to the kitchen?’‘ Not really. Why?’‘ My clothes. My divorce. Anything?’‘ Nothing important,’ I said, thinking of little else but how to casually hold her hand. When I did gather the courage to do it, I lunged forward suddenly and grabbed her hand. It was not a subtle move.‘ Careful,’ she said.‘ What?’‘ My left wrist. It’ s a little tender.’‘ How come?’‘ An old injury.’‘ Basketball?’ She gave a hesitant, non-committal nod. I released her left: hand and held her right.‘ Your mother is downstairs,’ she said. I took her words as encouragement. She had not said that holding