The maid hadn’t come that evening as promised.
Nithya got to know this at six through a phone call she took standing in the kitchen, one eye on the dosa that had started turning black, the other on Kavin who was eating his dinner with a book open beside his plate.
“Kavin. Book Down. Look at your plate and eat.”
He moved the book three inches to the left. Eyes still fixed on it. Cursing the day she’d introduced her seven-year-old to Harry Potter, Nithya turned to the stove before another dosa decided to colour itself black.
Flipping the dosa, she called back across the house. “Rajan, the maid isn’t coming. I haven’t packed Kavin’s bag yet.”
“I’ll do it.”
From down the hall, their neighbour Nirmala knocked on the open front door, wanting to know if they could take her courier package since she’d not be home the next day. She was talking to Rajan the whole time, as if Nithya was just another piece of furniture that had learned to open doors.
Rajan acknowledged her request with a patient smile he reserved for people like Nirmala. Nithya burned yet another dosa.
He came back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “You burned the dosa.”
“The dosa burned itself.”
Rajan smiled and put a piece of it inside his mouth anyway, grimacing only slightly when the burnt part hit his tongue.
Nithya pointed the spatula at him. “The Urbanclap plumber is coming at two tomorrow. The pipe under the kitchen sink has been leaking since Tuesday. You need to show that to him yourself. That is, actually show him. Not like how you did when the electrician came home last month.”
“The electrician situation was not my fault.”
“Rajan, you showed him the wrong switch while playing Dream11.”
“I showed him the switch I thought was the problem.”
“For forty minutes.”
“I was trying to be helpful.”
“He charged us for forty minutes of you being helpful.” She slid the last dosa onto the plate, turning off the flame.
By eight, the cab was downstairs. She was on the phone with her mother when they came down, bag on one shoulder, Kavin’s hand in hers. Rajan was managing the trolley suitcase and a big haversack.
“Amma, yes, we’re leaving. Yes, I ate. Yes, properly. Amma.”
The driver took the suitcase from Rajan. Nithya slid into the back seat with Kavin while Rajan took the front seat.
“Driver, hurry. Have to catch the Nilgiri Express at 9.15.”
Nithya was still on call with her mother who was now telling her to carry an extra sweater because Mettupalayam always got cold at night, as if her daughter never grew up there. Then her father came on the call, his voice two notches louder than necessary.
“Nithya, I cleaned your room, changed bedsheets, serviced AC yesterday.”
“Appa..”
“Give the phone to Kavin. Kavin…Paati has made Kozhukkattai for you. I’ve already subscribed to your favourite cartoon channel.”
“Appa, we’re in the cab….” But he went on, completely ignoring his daughter for his grandson. Rajan turned from the front seat and smiled at her.
Outside, the city was doing what it always did. Auto drivers arguing at signals. Flower sellers arranging marigold garlands at the traffic light, petals dropping onto the road without them noticing. Kaiyendi Bhavans already swarmed with the young crowd, momo steam rising from every counter.
The phone call had thankfully ended. Nithya had just started wondering if the Grandpa-Grandson duo would still have anything left to talk about for the next ten days.
“Amma, is Paati’s house still the same?” Kavin asked.
“Same.”
“Same swing?”
“Same swing.”
“Same dog next door?”
“Yes.”
The driver found his way through without fuss and they reached Central at 8.40. Rajan was already out with the luggage after Gpay-ing the driver.
“I’ll get the platform ticket,” he said, rushing inside, dragging the suitcase with one hand, Kavin’s wrist in the other.
Nithya turned back to the cab for her dupatta, left on the seat.
She leaned in.
And that’s when she saw it.
On the dashboard, tucked into the curve where the windshield met the plastic. A small brass Ganesha.
Nithya’s hand paused on the dupatta for a second before she straightened. Carrying her shoulder bag, she walked towards her family.
——————————
He’d known she was in this cab from the moment she got in. He sat there, both hands tight on the wheel, not once looking in the rearview mirror the whole forty minutes, because he knew that looking would undo something he’d spent years carefully keeping whole. He heard her talk to her parents. Listened to her patiently answering those never-ending questions of her son. Watched the man in the front turn to find her in the gap between the seats, and smile. She was happy. Not just fine. Properly happy. Knowing that gave him something he hadn’t known he was still waiting to know.
The small brass Ganesha on his dashboard had come from the small shop outside their college gate. She’d pressed it into his palm on a Tuesday afternoon in November when it was raining. Just because she’d seen it and thought of him immediately…The way she thought of him those days. Without reason. The Ganesha went with him everywhere after that. Because sometimes, you cannot put away some things. You just find them a place where the light finds them.
______
Glossary:
Paati – Grandmother
Kozhukkattai – Modaks in Tamil
Kaiyendi Bhavans – Roadside eateries
