12-08-2026, 02:03 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:06 PM by Authorsunny.)
Chapter 3 – The Late Nights
9 August 2025 – Saturday
She told me in the morning while pouring tea.
“There’s an eight-thirty show of new film everyone is talking about. I thought I’ll go. The earlier shows are all full.”
I looked up from my phone. “Eight-thirty? That means you’ll come back after eleven.”
“I’ll take auto both ways. The road is busy till late. Nothing will happen.” She said it lightly, already deciding.
She spent the afternoon getting ready more carefully than usual. She washed her hair again even though she had washed it two days ago. She stood in front of the small mirror for a long time, trying the grey top with the jeans, then changing into the maroon kurti, then going back to the grey top. Finally she settled on the grey top, jeans, and a thin black stole that she dbangd loosely. She put on the small earrings and the silver chain. At the last minute she opened her old jewellery box and took out a thin gold chain that Papa had given her years ago. She fastened it around her neck and looked at herself.
“Too much?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. “It looks nice.”
She left at seven-fifteen. The moment the door closed the flat became too quiet. I tried to work, then gave up and sat near the window watching the lane. By ten-thirty I was checking my phone every few minutes. At ten-fifty I almost called, then stopped. At eleven-twenty the doorbell rang.
She came in smelling of cold air and popcorn. Her lipstick was almost gone. The stole had slipped off one shoulder. She looked tired but her eyes were bright.
“The film was long,” she said, removing her sandals. “And then auto took time.”
“You should have called.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.” She smiled and touched my arm as she passed. “I’m home safely, see?”
She changed into her nighty and sat on the bed with a glass of water. I sat on the chair. The silence between us felt thicker than usual.
After a while I said, “Ma, eleven-thirty is late.”
She looked at me over the glass. “I know. But it was only one film. I’m not making it a habit.”
She finished the water, put the glass down, and lay on her side facing me.
“I worked for twenty years, Sunny. Hotel shifts, parlour shifts, standing on my feet, smiling when I didn’t feel like smiling. Now when I want to sit in a dark hall and watch something for three hours, is that too much?”
Her voice was soft, but there was a firmness under it that I had not heard before.
“It’s not too much,” I said. “I just worry.”
“I know you do.” She reached out and patted the mattress beside her. “Come. Sleep. Tomorrow is Sunday.”
I switched off the light and lay down. Her breathing slowly evened out. I stayed awake listening to it, wondering when the word “worry” had started feeling heavier than it used to.
---
14 August 2025 – Thursday
She went out again in the evening.
This time she didn’t ask. She only told me while I was changing after office.
“I’m going for a walk and then maybe sit somewhere for a while. I’ll take the key.”
She was wearing the olive kurti and jeans. Her hair was open and she had put on the muted pink lipstick. The thin gold chain was there again. When she bent to tie her sandals the neckline of the kurti shifted and I saw more of the soft upper curve of her breasts than I was used to seeing.
She left at seven. I ate alone. By nine I was restless. At nine-forty I called.
She picked up after three rings. There was noise in the background — traffic, people talking.
“Yes, Sunny?”
“Where are you?”
“Just near the station road. Having tea. Coming in twenty minutes.”
She came at ten-fifteen. Her cheeks were slightly pink. She carried a small paper bag with two samosas.
“I brought for you,” she said, smiling. “You must have eaten alone.”
We sat on the bed and ate the samosas. They were still warm. She told me she had walked until her feet hurt, then sat at a small stall and watched people. A couple of men had stared, she said, but she ignored them.
“At this age also they look,” she laughed. “Strange.”
I didn’t laugh with her.
After she finished eating she went to the bathroom and changed. When she came out she sat next to me and put her head on my shoulder for a moment.
“You’re quiet today.”
“I don’t like you coming so late.”
She lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were calm.
“I’m not doing anything wrong, Sunny. I’m only sitting and drinking tea. After so many years of rushing home, is it so bad if I sit for a while?”
“It’s not about wrong. It’s about the time.”
She was silent for a few seconds. Then she spoke more quietly.
“I know you take care of everything now. The rent, the ration, the bills. I see it. And I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean I have to ask permission for every hour I spend outside. I am still your mother, not your child.”
The words were soft. They still landed hard.
I looked down at my hands. She reached out and covered them with hers.
“Don’t make that face. I’m not angry. I just want a little air. That’s all.”
That night she fell asleep before me again. I lay staring at the ceiling fan, turning her words over and over. *I am still your mother, not your child.*
Something in the balance of the house had shifted by a few degrees. I could feel it even if I could not yet name it.
---
19 August 2025 – Tuesday
The neighbour on the first floor, old Mr. Topiwala, stopped me on the stairs.
“Your mother has become stylish nowadays,” he said with a half-smile. “New clothes, going out… good, good. After so much hard work she should enjoy.”
I only nodded and kept climbing.
When I told Ma she shrugged.
“People in this building have nothing else to do except watch who is wearing what.” She was standing in front of the mirror, trying a different way of dbanging her stole. “Let them talk.”
She had bought a new nighty two days ago — soft peach-coloured, with a lower neck and thinner straps than her old ones. She wore it for the first time that night. When she sat on the bed the neckline settled lower on her chest and the soft weight of her breasts was more noticeable under the thin cloth. I looked away and opened my laptop.
While I worked she sat on the chair near the window with her phone. Every few minutes she smiled at something on the screen. Once she laughed under her breath.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked without looking up.
“No one. Just watching reels. Some old songs.”
She put the phone down after a while and came and stood behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders.
“You’re working too much. Eyes will get spoilt.”
Her thumbs pressed lightly into the muscles of my neck. The peach nighty brushed against my back. I could smell the lotion she had started using every night.
“I’m almost done,” I said.
She stayed there for another minute, massaging slowly, then went back to the bed. I heard the soft sound of her settling under the sheet.
At eleven-thirty she spoke into the dark.
“Sunny.”
“Hmm.”
“If I go for another late film this Saturday… will you make a face again?”
I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
“I’ll try not to.”
She made a small sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh.
“That’s all I ask.”
---
23 August 2025 – Saturday
She left at seven-forty for the eight-thirty show.
This time she wore the black kurti with jeans and the gold chain. She had put on a little more lipstick than usual and a thin black bindi. When she stood near the door adjusting her stole, she looked at me and smiled.
“Don’t wait up if you feel sleepy. I’ll take auto.”
“I’ll wait.”
She hesitated, then came and touched my cheek quickly.
“I’ll message when the film ends.”
She did message at eleven-ten: “Film over. Taking auto.”
She reached home at eleven-forty-five.
I opened the door before she could ring the bell. She looked surprised, then amused.
“You were standing here?”
“I heard the stairs.”
She walked in, removed her sandals, and stretched her arms above her head. The kurti lifted a little and I saw a thin strip of skin above her jeans. She didn’t notice.
“The film was average,” she said, going straight to the kitchen for water. “But the seats were good. Air-conditioning was perfect. I even had ice-cream in the interval.”
She drank two glasses of water and then came and sat on the bed with a long sigh.
“My feet are hurting. I wore the wrong sandals.”
I sat on the chair. The clock on the wall showed ten minutes to twelve.
“Ma.”
“Hmm.”
“This is the third time in two weeks you’re coming after eleven.”
She looked at me, the glass still in her hand. For a moment I thought she would get irritated. Instead she spoke very evenly.
“Yes. It is. And I’m telling you each time. I’m not hiding anything.”
“I’m not saying you’re hiding something. I’m just saying that it’s late.”
She put the glass down on the floor and folded her hands in her lap.
“Sunny, listen to me carefully. I raised you alone for five years after your father died. I stood in that hotel reception till my back hurt. I stood in that parlour till my feet swelled. I paid the rent, the fees, the electricity, everything. Now you have a job and you are taking care of the house. I am proud of you. But that does not mean the rest of my life has to stop at seven in the evening.”
Her voice never rose. That made it worse.
“I am not asking for money. I am not asking you to come with me. I am only asking for a few hours of my own. Is that so difficult for you to accept?”
I didn’t answer immediately. The tube light hummed above us. Somewhere in the building a television was still playing.
Finally I said, “I accept it. I just… I get restless when you’re not home.”
Her face softened a little. She got up, came to me, and pulled my head against her stomach the way she used to when I was small. Her fingers moved through my hair.
“I know. You’re my only one. But you have to let me breathe also.”
I closed my eyes. The soft peach nighty she had changed into earlier was still lying on the bed. The new gold chain was still around her neck. The smell of her lotion was in my nose.
After a while she stepped back, kissed the top of my head, and went to lie down.
“Come. It’s almost midnight. Sleep.”
I switched off the light and lay beside her. In the dark her breathing slowly became regular. I stayed awake, staring at the familiar shape of the ceiling, feeling the small apartment settle around us.
The late nights had begun.
And with them, something else had begun too — quieter, slower, and already harder to push back.
9 August 2025 – Saturday
She told me in the morning while pouring tea.
“There’s an eight-thirty show of new film everyone is talking about. I thought I’ll go. The earlier shows are all full.”
I looked up from my phone. “Eight-thirty? That means you’ll come back after eleven.”
“I’ll take auto both ways. The road is busy till late. Nothing will happen.” She said it lightly, already deciding.
She spent the afternoon getting ready more carefully than usual. She washed her hair again even though she had washed it two days ago. She stood in front of the small mirror for a long time, trying the grey top with the jeans, then changing into the maroon kurti, then going back to the grey top. Finally she settled on the grey top, jeans, and a thin black stole that she dbangd loosely. She put on the small earrings and the silver chain. At the last minute she opened her old jewellery box and took out a thin gold chain that Papa had given her years ago. She fastened it around her neck and looked at herself.
“Too much?” she asked me.
“No,” I said. “It looks nice.”
She left at seven-fifteen. The moment the door closed the flat became too quiet. I tried to work, then gave up and sat near the window watching the lane. By ten-thirty I was checking my phone every few minutes. At ten-fifty I almost called, then stopped. At eleven-twenty the doorbell rang.
She came in smelling of cold air and popcorn. Her lipstick was almost gone. The stole had slipped off one shoulder. She looked tired but her eyes were bright.
“The film was long,” she said, removing her sandals. “And then auto took time.”
“You should have called.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.” She smiled and touched my arm as she passed. “I’m home safely, see?”
She changed into her nighty and sat on the bed with a glass of water. I sat on the chair. The silence between us felt thicker than usual.
After a while I said, “Ma, eleven-thirty is late.”
She looked at me over the glass. “I know. But it was only one film. I’m not making it a habit.”
She finished the water, put the glass down, and lay on her side facing me.
“I worked for twenty years, Sunny. Hotel shifts, parlour shifts, standing on my feet, smiling when I didn’t feel like smiling. Now when I want to sit in a dark hall and watch something for three hours, is that too much?”
Her voice was soft, but there was a firmness under it that I had not heard before.
“It’s not too much,” I said. “I just worry.”
“I know you do.” She reached out and patted the mattress beside her. “Come. Sleep. Tomorrow is Sunday.”
I switched off the light and lay down. Her breathing slowly evened out. I stayed awake listening to it, wondering when the word “worry” had started feeling heavier than it used to.
---
14 August 2025 – Thursday
She went out again in the evening.
This time she didn’t ask. She only told me while I was changing after office.
“I’m going for a walk and then maybe sit somewhere for a while. I’ll take the key.”
She was wearing the olive kurti and jeans. Her hair was open and she had put on the muted pink lipstick. The thin gold chain was there again. When she bent to tie her sandals the neckline of the kurti shifted and I saw more of the soft upper curve of her breasts than I was used to seeing.
She left at seven. I ate alone. By nine I was restless. At nine-forty I called.
She picked up after three rings. There was noise in the background — traffic, people talking.
“Yes, Sunny?”
“Where are you?”
“Just near the station road. Having tea. Coming in twenty minutes.”
She came at ten-fifteen. Her cheeks were slightly pink. She carried a small paper bag with two samosas.
“I brought for you,” she said, smiling. “You must have eaten alone.”
We sat on the bed and ate the samosas. They were still warm. She told me she had walked until her feet hurt, then sat at a small stall and watched people. A couple of men had stared, she said, but she ignored them.
“At this age also they look,” she laughed. “Strange.”
I didn’t laugh with her.
After she finished eating she went to the bathroom and changed. When she came out she sat next to me and put her head on my shoulder for a moment.
“You’re quiet today.”
“I don’t like you coming so late.”
She lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were calm.
“I’m not doing anything wrong, Sunny. I’m only sitting and drinking tea. After so many years of rushing home, is it so bad if I sit for a while?”
“It’s not about wrong. It’s about the time.”
She was silent for a few seconds. Then she spoke more quietly.
“I know you take care of everything now. The rent, the ration, the bills. I see it. And I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean I have to ask permission for every hour I spend outside. I am still your mother, not your child.”
The words were soft. They still landed hard.
I looked down at my hands. She reached out and covered them with hers.
“Don’t make that face. I’m not angry. I just want a little air. That’s all.”
That night she fell asleep before me again. I lay staring at the ceiling fan, turning her words over and over. *I am still your mother, not your child.*
Something in the balance of the house had shifted by a few degrees. I could feel it even if I could not yet name it.
---
19 August 2025 – Tuesday
The neighbour on the first floor, old Mr. Topiwala, stopped me on the stairs.
“Your mother has become stylish nowadays,” he said with a half-smile. “New clothes, going out… good, good. After so much hard work she should enjoy.”
I only nodded and kept climbing.
When I told Ma she shrugged.
“People in this building have nothing else to do except watch who is wearing what.” She was standing in front of the mirror, trying a different way of dbanging her stole. “Let them talk.”
She had bought a new nighty two days ago — soft peach-coloured, with a lower neck and thinner straps than her old ones. She wore it for the first time that night. When she sat on the bed the neckline settled lower on her chest and the soft weight of her breasts was more noticeable under the thin cloth. I looked away and opened my laptop.
While I worked she sat on the chair near the window with her phone. Every few minutes she smiled at something on the screen. Once she laughed under her breath.
“Who are you talking to?” I asked without looking up.
“No one. Just watching reels. Some old songs.”
She put the phone down after a while and came and stood behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders.
“You’re working too much. Eyes will get spoilt.”
Her thumbs pressed lightly into the muscles of my neck. The peach nighty brushed against my back. I could smell the lotion she had started using every night.
“I’m almost done,” I said.
She stayed there for another minute, massaging slowly, then went back to the bed. I heard the soft sound of her settling under the sheet.
At eleven-thirty she spoke into the dark.
“Sunny.”
“Hmm.”
“If I go for another late film this Saturday… will you make a face again?”
I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
“I’ll try not to.”
She made a small sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh.
“That’s all I ask.”
---
23 August 2025 – Saturday
She left at seven-forty for the eight-thirty show.
This time she wore the black kurti with jeans and the gold chain. She had put on a little more lipstick than usual and a thin black bindi. When she stood near the door adjusting her stole, she looked at me and smiled.
“Don’t wait up if you feel sleepy. I’ll take auto.”
“I’ll wait.”
She hesitated, then came and touched my cheek quickly.
“I’ll message when the film ends.”
She did message at eleven-ten: “Film over. Taking auto.”
She reached home at eleven-forty-five.
I opened the door before she could ring the bell. She looked surprised, then amused.
“You were standing here?”
“I heard the stairs.”
She walked in, removed her sandals, and stretched her arms above her head. The kurti lifted a little and I saw a thin strip of skin above her jeans. She didn’t notice.
“The film was average,” she said, going straight to the kitchen for water. “But the seats were good. Air-conditioning was perfect. I even had ice-cream in the interval.”
She drank two glasses of water and then came and sat on the bed with a long sigh.
“My feet are hurting. I wore the wrong sandals.”
I sat on the chair. The clock on the wall showed ten minutes to twelve.
“Ma.”
“Hmm.”
“This is the third time in two weeks you’re coming after eleven.”
She looked at me, the glass still in her hand. For a moment I thought she would get irritated. Instead she spoke very evenly.
“Yes. It is. And I’m telling you each time. I’m not hiding anything.”
“I’m not saying you’re hiding something. I’m just saying that it’s late.”
She put the glass down on the floor and folded her hands in her lap.
“Sunny, listen to me carefully. I raised you alone for five years after your father died. I stood in that hotel reception till my back hurt. I stood in that parlour till my feet swelled. I paid the rent, the fees, the electricity, everything. Now you have a job and you are taking care of the house. I am proud of you. But that does not mean the rest of my life has to stop at seven in the evening.”
Her voice never rose. That made it worse.
“I am not asking for money. I am not asking you to come with me. I am only asking for a few hours of my own. Is that so difficult for you to accept?”
I didn’t answer immediately. The tube light hummed above us. Somewhere in the building a television was still playing.
Finally I said, “I accept it. I just… I get restless when you’re not home.”
Her face softened a little. She got up, came to me, and pulled my head against her stomach the way she used to when I was small. Her fingers moved through my hair.
“I know. You’re my only one. But you have to let me breathe also.”
I closed my eyes. The soft peach nighty she had changed into earlier was still lying on the bed. The new gold chain was still around her neck. The smell of her lotion was in my nose.
After a while she stepped back, kissed the top of my head, and went to lie down.
“Come. It’s almost midnight. Sleep.”
I switched off the light and lay beside her. In the dark her breathing slowly became regular. I stayed awake, staring at the familiar shape of the ceiling, feeling the small apartment settle around us.
The late nights had begun.
And with them, something else had begun too — quieter, slower, and already harder to push back.
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