Her parents shared a glance across the table before Puppa pushed his chair back and stood. Retrieving his address book from the drawer next to the sofa, he pulled out an envelope from its pages and handed her the papers inside.
Priya’s eyes widened as she scanned the document. “An offer from a land developer to buy the funeral home?” She glanced at her parents. “This is a lot of money. You wouldn’t need a loan to keep Moksha running.” Her heart began to race. “You could sell, retire, and never have to worry about finances again,” she said, her voice bright with excitement.
“Read it properly,” Puppa urged. “They want to build condominiums here.”
“So?” Priya’s brows furrowed. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
Puppa shook his head. “Moksha is the only funeral home in the area run by a Hindu family, Priya. We welcome people of all faiths, but it’s our duty to provide the last rites and rituals for ourcommunity. When I was a boy in Gujarat, my father upheld that responsibility, and my grandfather did the same before him. Your mother and I may have moved to another country, but we can’t shed our caste or the responsibility that goes with it.”
Priya drew in a measured breath. “It always comes down to that. Tradition, duty, obligation…” Her gaze shot to her father, eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me you rejected it?” She nodded toward the offer.
“Not yet, but I will do whatever I can to keep Moksha going.”
“And you’re okay with this?” Priya turned to her mother.
“Of course. Your father is right. It’s one thing if we had no other option, but we still have time to find a solution. We can’t just run from our karma. And neither can you. You’re part of the same lineage, Priya, and no matter how far you run, fate will always pull you back.”
“And Meghna and Deepa?” Priya countered. “Are you saying they’re going to end up here too?”
“Your sisters will always be tied to this place. It’s in their blood, same as you.” Mumma’s words carried a quiet certainty.
A heavy sigh built in Priya’s chest. Her parents still saw the world through the lens of a caste system that had been abolished over seventy-five years ago. To them, caste dictated everything from what kind of work you were expected to do to who youcould marry to your place in the world. And because their family was Dalit—considered so low they weren’t even counted within the hierarchy—Priya’s parents made sure their daughters understood it from an early age.
Don’t reach too high.
Don’t think too big.
Don’t dream beyond your station.
But Priya had always wanted more. More than quiet obedience. More than a future shaped by the past. She wanted to break the cycle—for herself and for her sisters. A life beyond inherited limits. A life where they weren’t just surviving but growing, flourishing,thriving. But now, sitting around the table with her parents, she held her tongue. This was not a war of words; it was a clash of perspectives, both sides digging in with no intention of waving a white flag.
As she sipped her tea, a notification flashed on her phone. “It’s Brooke,” she announced, reading the message. “And she’s on her way over.”
“Here? Right now?” Mumma exclaimed. “What will we feed her?”
Hosting guests was a point of pride for the Solankis. Even a casual visit called for an entire spread ofdhoklas,khakhras,bhajiyas,patras—each lovingly prepared and served with a side of warm hospitality.
“Tell her you’re tired from your flight and ask her to come tomorrow,” Puppa said.
“She’s flying out herself tonight and won’t be back until summer,” Priya replied. “Don’t worry, she’s just popping in for a quick hello. I haven’t seen her in ages.”
Mumma shot to her feet and went into full panic mode. “Hai Ram!Rakesh, get the cushions!”
Puppa hurried to the closet, resurrecting every cushion stored away in the closet.
“You should have told us she was planning to drop in, Priya.” Mumma lit a candle, waving a kitchen towel in the air to dispel the smell of rotlis.
“I didn’t know!” Priya said, throwing her hands up. “I told her I’d be arriving today, but I had no idea she wasleavingtoday.”
“Does she drink tea?” Mumma called from the kitchen. “Do we have soft drinks? Oh, orange juice! We have orange juice,” she declared, peering into the refrigerator.
“It’s just Brooke, you guys. Relax.”
“Just Brooke,” Mumma muttered, gathering her prized dinnerware from the cabinet. “She may be ‘just Brooke’ to you, but she’s from a rich family.Mota loko chhe.”
“Big people,” Puppa echoed, sweeping the clutter off the kitchen counter and shoving it into the oven.
Mumma raced ahead of Priya toward the bathroom. “Out of the way, beta. You can freshen up in a minute.” She ducked in through the door and immediately called out, “Hai Ram.Is that hair on the soap dispenser?”
