12-08-2026, 11:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:10 PM by Authorsunny.)
Chapter 8 Continued
1 November 2025 – Saturday
Morning light came in through the grill. Ma was already dressed in the olive kurti and jeans. She had put on the silver bracelet and the gold chain. Her hair was open and she had used a little of the muted pink lipstick. When she bent to tie her sandals the neckline of the kurti fell forward and I saw the full soft upper curve of both breasts and the dark edge of the bra. The cups looked full and strained. She straightened and caught my eyes on her chest.
“Staring again,” she said, but there was no real rebuke in it. Only a mild, almost pleased acknowledgment.
“I’m going to the bigger market today,” she said. “Need a few things. Then I might sit for some time. Don’t wait for lunch if you get hungry.”
She left at eleven.
I stayed home until two, then went out to meet one of the juniors from office who lived nearby. We sat at a small café for an hour and talked about work. When I walked back toward the building at four-thirty I saw the white sedan again. It was parked a little further down the lane. Ma was standing near the passenger side. Azad Bhai was leaning against the car, arms folded. They were talking. She was smiling. At one point she touched his arm lightly while saying something. He said something back and she laughed, the sound carrying faintly in the afternoon air.
Mrs. Shilpa Desai was standing at her window on the second floor. She looked down at me, then at Ma and Azad Bhai, and gave the same small smile she had given the previous Sunday. Two boys from the building who were playing near the gate also looked. One of them said something to the other and both grinned.
Ma turned, saw me, and said a final word to Azad Bhai. He nodded, got into the car, and drove away. She walked toward me carrying a small shopping bag.
“You saw,” she said when she reached the stairs. It was not a question.
“Half the building saw.”
She started climbing. I followed.
“Let them see,” she said without turning. “I am not hiding. He dropped me because the bags were heavy. That is all.”
Inside the flat she put the bag on the bed and removed her sandals. The olive kurti was slightly stuck to her back from the heat. She stretched both arms above her head again, the same movement she had started making more often. The kurti lifted. The soft waist, the smooth skin, the way the jeans held her hips — all of it was offered to the small room without any attempt to hide.
She lowered her arms and looked at me.
“You’re quiet.”
“People are talking, Ma.”
“People have been talking since I started wearing jeans. Let them talk.” She opened the shopping bag and took out a new blouse piece — dark blue, soft fabric — and a small bottle of perfume. Not the cheap kind. A proper branded one, the kind that cost more than she used to spend on herself in a month.
“He saw me looking at it in the shop,” she said when she noticed my eyes on the perfume. “He bought it. I told him I can buy my own things. He didn’t listen. He said it suits me.”
She sprayed a little on her wrist and sniffed it. The scent was heavier, warmer than the lotion.
“You’re taking too many things from him.”
Ma looked at me for a long moment. Then she spoke in the calm, correcting tone she had started using more often.
“Sunny, you are still so young. You earn well now, yes. But you do not understand how the world works when someone settled and respected offers help. Azad Bhai is an influential and powerful person. When he wants to give something small, refusing every time looks ungrateful. I am not a child. I know what I am doing.”
She put the perfume on the shelf of the almirah and went into the bathroom to change. I sat on the chair and stared at the new blue blouse piece and the branded perfume bottle.
When she came out she was in a simple cotton nighty. She sat on the bed and started applying the new perfume lightly on her neck and wrists. The scent filled the small room. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“I know the whole building saw us today. I know what they will say. Let them say it. I worked for twenty years. I raised you alone. Now if I sit in a car for ten minutes or take a small gift, it is not the end of the world. You need to stop carrying everything on your face, Sunny. It makes you look even younger than you are.”
The words were soft. The public soft humiliation inside them was not.
She switched off the main light a little later and lay down with her phone under the pillow. A message arrived within minutes. The screen glowed. She waited, then typed a short reply in the dark.
I lay awake listening to the fan and the distant traffic.
The neighbourhood had seen.
Mrs. Desai had smiled.
The boys at the gate had grinned.
And my mother had walked back into the house and told me, calmly, that I was still too young to understand why none of it should matter.
1 November 2025 – Saturday
Morning light came in through the grill. Ma was already dressed in the olive kurti and jeans. She had put on the silver bracelet and the gold chain. Her hair was open and she had used a little of the muted pink lipstick. When she bent to tie her sandals the neckline of the kurti fell forward and I saw the full soft upper curve of both breasts and the dark edge of the bra. The cups looked full and strained. She straightened and caught my eyes on her chest.
“Staring again,” she said, but there was no real rebuke in it. Only a mild, almost pleased acknowledgment.
“I’m going to the bigger market today,” she said. “Need a few things. Then I might sit for some time. Don’t wait for lunch if you get hungry.”
She left at eleven.
I stayed home until two, then went out to meet one of the juniors from office who lived nearby. We sat at a small café for an hour and talked about work. When I walked back toward the building at four-thirty I saw the white sedan again. It was parked a little further down the lane. Ma was standing near the passenger side. Azad Bhai was leaning against the car, arms folded. They were talking. She was smiling. At one point she touched his arm lightly while saying something. He said something back and she laughed, the sound carrying faintly in the afternoon air.
Mrs. Shilpa Desai was standing at her window on the second floor. She looked down at me, then at Ma and Azad Bhai, and gave the same small smile she had given the previous Sunday. Two boys from the building who were playing near the gate also looked. One of them said something to the other and both grinned.
Ma turned, saw me, and said a final word to Azad Bhai. He nodded, got into the car, and drove away. She walked toward me carrying a small shopping bag.
“You saw,” she said when she reached the stairs. It was not a question.
“Half the building saw.”
She started climbing. I followed.
“Let them see,” she said without turning. “I am not hiding. He dropped me because the bags were heavy. That is all.”
Inside the flat she put the bag on the bed and removed her sandals. The olive kurti was slightly stuck to her back from the heat. She stretched both arms above her head again, the same movement she had started making more often. The kurti lifted. The soft waist, the smooth skin, the way the jeans held her hips — all of it was offered to the small room without any attempt to hide.
She lowered her arms and looked at me.
“You’re quiet.”
“People are talking, Ma.”
“People have been talking since I started wearing jeans. Let them talk.” She opened the shopping bag and took out a new blouse piece — dark blue, soft fabric — and a small bottle of perfume. Not the cheap kind. A proper branded one, the kind that cost more than she used to spend on herself in a month.
“He saw me looking at it in the shop,” she said when she noticed my eyes on the perfume. “He bought it. I told him I can buy my own things. He didn’t listen. He said it suits me.”
She sprayed a little on her wrist and sniffed it. The scent was heavier, warmer than the lotion.
“You’re taking too many things from him.”
Ma looked at me for a long moment. Then she spoke in the calm, correcting tone she had started using more often.
“Sunny, you are still so young. You earn well now, yes. But you do not understand how the world works when someone settled and respected offers help. Azad Bhai is an influential and powerful person. When he wants to give something small, refusing every time looks ungrateful. I am not a child. I know what I am doing.”
She put the perfume on the shelf of the almirah and went into the bathroom to change. I sat on the chair and stared at the new blue blouse piece and the branded perfume bottle.
When she came out she was in a simple cotton nighty. She sat on the bed and started applying the new perfume lightly on her neck and wrists. The scent filled the small room. She looked at me over her shoulder.
“I know the whole building saw us today. I know what they will say. Let them say it. I worked for twenty years. I raised you alone. Now if I sit in a car for ten minutes or take a small gift, it is not the end of the world. You need to stop carrying everything on your face, Sunny. It makes you look even younger than you are.”
The words were soft. The public soft humiliation inside them was not.
She switched off the main light a little later and lay down with her phone under the pillow. A message arrived within minutes. The screen glowed. She waited, then typed a short reply in the dark.
I lay awake listening to the fan and the distant traffic.
The neighbourhood had seen.
Mrs. Desai had smiled.
The boys at the gate had grinned.
And my mother had walked back into the house and told me, calmly, that I was still too young to understand why none of it should matter.
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