“So, tell me…” Puppa settled into his usual spot at the dining table and motioned Priya to join him.
But Priya wasn’t ready. Not yet. She slipped into the kitchen instead, where her mother was already busy making chai.
“Let me help.” She opened the cupboard next to the sink and reached for the cups, hoping to stall the conversation that lay ahead—and her parents’ inevitable autopsy of her marriage.
“Priya,” her father called her back, firm and steady.
Priya sighed and carried the cups and sugar bowl over to the table, bracing herself as she sat beside him. Even though she was twenty-eight, her heart still raced whenever her father wanted to “talk,” and a familiar fight-or-flight response took over her body. In the past, she had fled, because fighting was disrespectful, but now she had nowhere to run. Her parents held all the power.
Puppa leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table, and fixed his gaze on Priya. “How much did you pay for the taxi?”
Priya’s shoulders relaxed. This she could handle. Rakesh Solanki was a frugal man who took great pride in imparting his money-saving habits. Priya divided the fare in half and gave him the number.
“Hey Bhagwan.” Dear Lord. “Seema, did you hear?”
“I heard. I heard,” Mumma replied from the kitchen. “Priya, you know Ramilaben no jamai no kaka no nano babu?”
“Do I know your friend’s son-in-law’s dad’s brother’s younger son? I don’t think so.”
“Yes, you do. Jignesh. You know.Jignesh.”
“Ah, Jignesh.” Priya had no idea who Jignesh was, but it was easier to let Mumma assume she knew every Gujarati person in the Greater Toronto Area than to suffer a long-winded explanation.
“He gives people a ride to the airport for only ten dollars.” Mumma added ginger and cardamom to the tea before glancing at Priya through the archway that joined the kitchen to the dining area.
“Ten dollars doesn’t even cover the gas, Mumma,” Priya muttered, shaking her head.
“He doesn’t do it for the money. It’ssevafor our community. He’s creating good karma. He will reap the rewards one day.”
“So, Jignesh is currying favor with Bhagwanji. Good business strategy. Investing now in the hopes of future gains.”
“Don’t be cheeky.” Mumma stepped out of the kitchen and plopped a plate of hot rotlis on the table. “Why didn’t you come home sooner? A whole year in Calgary, living on your own after you separated from Manoj. What were you thinking?”
Priya smiled faintly, tearing off a piece of rotli and dusting it with sugar. “It’s not like I was the only woman in Calgary living on my own. A lot of my girlfriends live alone too.”
“That’s different.” Mumma poured chai into three cups and took her seat. “You’re our daughter. You don’t need to struggle by yourself when you have a family right here.”
“I know. But I put so much work into building the company Manoj and I started,” Priya said, her voice softening as she looked at Mumma. “I thought we could still work together, but we didn’t see eye to eye on the business either, so I decided to leave.” She lifted her cup and took a slow sip. None of this was a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. The truth was that Calgary had given her the kind of independence she could never have here, the freedom to live life away from her parents’ well-meaning but constant interference—even if it came with loneliness. Losing her marriage had been painful, but losing her career had shattered what was left of her life out west. Without a partner or a paycheck, coming home had been her only option.
“You did the right thing.” Puppa tipped his tea into a saucer, blew on it, and took a loud, slurping sip. “A daughter’s place is with her parents until she marries or…” He hesitated, his voice trailing off.
“Or what, Puppa?” Priya placed her cup down and met his gaze. “Go on, say it.” When he remained silent, she sighed. “Divorce. It’s not a bad word, you know.”
“Of course not,beta.” Puppa patted her hand. “When we came to Canada thirty years ago, no one spoke about these things openly, especially not in our community. But times have changed. This isn’t the future we wanted for you, but your happiness is all that matters. So, tell us…” He leaned back in his chair. “After five years together, what really happened between you and Manoj? You’ve said so little.”
The lights suddenly flickered overhead, throwing brief shadows around them, but Priya barely reacted. Growing up at Moksha, she was used to its oddities—the strange groans of the pipes, the unexplained drafts, the way certain rooms always felt colder than the rest.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said before popping the last piece of her rotli in her mouth. She gave herself a moment to swallow before answering. “We just wanted different things in life.”
“But you had so much in common.” Puppa’s voice tinged with disbelief. “Same caste, same background, same profession. He didn’t drink, didn’t gamble. A good boy from a good family. You know we would never have approved otherwise.”
And that’s exactly why I married him, Priya thought.Not because I loved him, but because it madesense. Marrying a man who checked all your boxes was the only way to claim my freedom. It was my permission slip to stay in Calgary after university and build a life of my own.But these were words she’d never say aloud to her parents.
“Did he mistreat you?” Mumma asked. “Did you fight? Argue?”
“No, and we didn’t really fight. Just the normal ups and downs.”
Mumma flung her hands up. “Then what?”
