I guess Icouldstill tell them about my first hangover and the almost-kiss moment and fill in the gaps with generous helpings of drama and sexual tension. Drama I have plenty of, but there won’t be much sexual tension to cram into zeroth base.
Over the next thirty minutes, I get a head start on my packing. My flight isn’t until eleven p.m., but I’ll have to leave for the airport at least four hours early to tackle intra-Mumbai trafficandhave enough time left to deal with the immigration counter. Even so, I tell myself I can afford a quick coffee break.
In the kitchen, Nani’s talking to someone on the phone while steadily stirring the daal in the kadhai. She’s wearing a simple green cotton saree, and her hair is wrapped in a thin white towel, the end of which drapes down her back. I gently pry the metal spoon from her to take over stirring the daal, and Nani gives me a quick, grateful kiss on the forehead in return before heading into the prayer room adjoining the kitchen to finish her conversation.
Truthfully, much as I thought I’d hate cooking when Mummy suggested I learn from Nani, I’ve had fun preparing Indian dishesover the summer. And Nani’s such a good teacher. Way better than Mummy, who isn’t nearly as patient.
Nani’s already prepared the rest of breakfast—warm rotis in the casserole dish covered by a cloth to prevent the steam from furling out, a delicious-smelling malai kofta sabji, and a container of steamed, soft rice. She’s even kept the curd out, and its surface is so irresistibly jiggly I long to break through it with a spoon.
Once the daal is done, I turn the gas off. Seeing that there’s no more cooking to do, I make myself the coffee I came here for. As usual, I add two teaspoons of sugar and half a cup of milk to the concoction, making Nani cluck her tongue as she walks back into the kitchen, having hung up the phone.
“You want diabetes or what, baba?” she says, giving me a light smack on the shoulder.
I grin, slurping the hot drink, relishing the instant kick of caffeine. “Coffee is nothing without sugar.”
“Please don’t tell Divija that.”
“Not unless I wantanotherlecture on the harmful long-term effects of sucrose on the body.”
Nani chuckles. “Also, I was just on the phone with your mummy, and I have some wonderful news.” A beautiful smile appears on her wrinkly face. “Your flight got canceled because of staffing shortages since this election has kicked off a strike, so your papa got your flight rebooked. You get to stay four more days!”
“Fourmore days?” Holy crap. Does that mean I don’t have to finish packing today? I nearly let out a whoop before I remember how expensive the flight was. “They didn’t have to cover the cost, did they?”
“Don’t worry, it was either a full refund or alternative flight options with no extra charge.” Nani gives my shoulders a squeeze,and she looks so happy, I can’t help but smile. “I asked your papa to reschedule the flight for Wednesday morning just so I would get to spend more time with my babu.”
I pull Nani into a hug, inhaling her old-people-and-turmeric-soap smell. “That sounds wonderful, Nani.”
“Why don’t you see if you can get tickets for aDilwale Dulhania Le Jayengescreening at Maratha Mandir tomorrow? I know you’ve been wanting to do a rewatch.”
“Gosh, yes, I’d love that!” I exclaim, pecking Nani on her cheek.
I leave the kitchen, relief wringing my shoulders loose. But I can’t help but feel a little disappointed as I pause in the living room, lips pursed, watching my sleeping cousins. It’s great that I’m getting to stay a few more days and will have time to unwind and relax, but it isn’t going to be as fun without them around.
Yes, there’s theDDLJrewatch to look forward to, and I do love spending time with Nani, but I’ve been pumped with adrenaline these past few days building up to my flight, and this feels like a damp squib of sorts.
Amrit’s already in Goa for the wedding, and my cousins are leaving later today, because everyone’s schedule was planned aroundmine. Which means I’m going to be stuck with Priti, who moved in with Nani when she joined V. G. Vaze college to complete her eleventh and twelfth grades (in Maharashtra, as opposed to the other states, the junior and senior years are coupled together and called junior college). Mausi and Mausaji live in Colaba, which is too far for Priti to commute from every day.
Local trains in Mumbai do make it easier to go from one district to another, but Priti wanted to stay away from home for a bit, and closer to Rudra, I assumed when I first found out she was moving. It works for her, because Nani’s super chill—her only strict rule beingthat Priti return home by midnight unless she absolutelymustbe in college for design club–related work.
I collapse onto the futon next to Srishti, further vexed because I’m not even sleepy anymore. At least my phone’s fully charged; I haven’t had a chance to check it since I woke up. I scan my notifications, finding missed calls from Papa, who probably wanted to tell me about the flight cancellation, and loads of messages from my friends wishing me a safe trip. I vacantly scroll through them until my eye catches on one particular notification.
A text from Amrit.
The million Krishnas in my brain start screeching again:Holy shit holy shit holy shit!
I sit up, my body shaking with excitement, fingers trembling as I click on our chat. There are two new messages, typed in reply to the one I sent right before my phone ran out of charge last night.
@notkrishnakumar
Going to miss you, idiot??
@amrit_ka_achar
Dw, I’ll see you on your next trip.
Still owe you a kiss??
3
