13-08-2026, 05:45 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:12 PM by Authorsunny.)
Chapter 13 – Azad Ji to Azad sahab
18 November 2025 – Tuesday
The message came in the morning while I was still on the train to office. Ma had written only two lines.
*Money is arranged. Full amount. We will go to the dealer on Thursday or Friday and finish the paperwork. Tonight we are going out for dinner. Be home by 7:30.*
No explanation of where the money had come from. No long paragraph. Just the quiet finality that had become her style.
I read the message twice between stations. The train rocked and the man next to me pressed closer. I locked the phone and stared at the dark glass of the window. My own face looked back at me, tired, twenty-one, already carrying something heavier than the job.
Office passed in a blur of calls and a half-finished task. At 6:40 I left. By 7:20 I was climbing the stairs of the old building. The lift was broken again. When I opened the door of the house the first thing I noticed was the smell of her perfume — the branded one that had arrived weeks earlier. She was standing near the small mirror, adjusting the pallu of a black saree with a thin gold border. The blouse underneath was new, obviously sleeveless one, closer to her body than her older blouses. The neckline was round and low enough that the soft upper curve of her breasts was clear. She had left her hair open. The silver bracelet and the thin gold chain were both on.
She turned when she heard me.
“You are on time. Good. Change if you want. We should leave by eight.”
“Where are we going?”
“A place near Lokhandwala. Not too expensive, not too cheap. Proper food. I booked a table.”
She said it the way she now said many things — as a decision already made.
I washed my face, changed into a cleaner shirt, and came out. She was still at the mirror, putting a small bindi and checking the fall of the pallu. When she raised both arms to fix her hair the blouse stretched across her back and the deep curve of her waist showed. The saree held the full roundness of her hips without apology. She caught my eyes in the mirror and held the look for a second longer than necessary.
“You are staring again,” she said, but there was no real rebuke. Only a mild, almost amused acknowledgment. “The blouse is new. I got it stitched last week. It fits better than the old ones.”
She picked up her small handbag and the keys.
“Come. Auto will take time at this hour.”
We did not speak much in the auto. The evening air was cool. Neon signs from shops along the road reflected on the windshield. She sat with her shoulder lightly against mine because the seat was narrow. The perfume she wore was stronger at this distance. Every time the auto turned, the soft weight of her breast brushed my arm for a moment and then moved away.
The restaurant was on the first floor of a commercial building. Decent lighting, clean tables, mostly families and young office couples. We were given a table near the window. She ordered without asking me much — one butter chicken, one dal, rotis, jeera rice, and a sweet to share later. When the waiter left she folded her hands on the table and looked at me directly.
“The money is in the account. Full amount. No loan needed. The bike will be in your name. Papers will be clean. On Thursday or Friday we will go together and finish everything. Happy?”
I drank water because my throat had gone dry.
“You spoke to him.”
“I spoke to Azad ji. He asked only two questions — the approximate amount and whether you would feel strange taking it. I told him the amount and I told him my son will manage his feelings. He transferred the money the same evening. No drama. No conditions.”
She broke a piece of papad and ate it slowly.
“I want you to understand something clearly tonight. This bike is from me. I decided. I asked. I received. I am giving it to you. The fact that the money came through him does not change the first sentence. You will keep that order in your head when you ride it. Undetstood?”
“It is not that simple, Ma.”
“It is exactly that simple if you allow it to be. You wanted the bike. You did not have the money. I arranged it. Now you will take it and you will use it. The rest is noise you are creating in your own mind.”
The food arrived. She served me first, the way she had always done. For a few minutes we ate in silence. The butter chicken was good. The roti was fresh. Ordinary details of a dinner that was not ordinary at all.
After a while she spoke again, her voice lower.
“Sunny, look like you are still carrying Thursday’s conversation on your face. The mark, the things I said about my body, about liking his touch. You have not put it down.”
“How am I supposed to put it down? You told me clearly that you like it when he touches you. That you feel light when he speaks to you. That the place of a man in your life is not empty anymore. And now the same man is paying for my bike.”
She kept her spoon down and wiped the corner of her mouth with the tissue.
“Yes. The same man. I am not pretending there are two different people. There is one man. He gives attention. He gives practical help. He makes me feel like a woman again. And through me, some of that help reaches this house and reaches you. You can call it complicated. I call it practical.”
“People will say I am riding a bike bought by my mother’s… whatever he is.”
“People will say many things. They said things when I started wearing jeans. They said things when I sat in his car. They will say things when they see the new bike. Let them say. Their words do not pay our electricity bill and they do not make my days lighter. I have stopped living according to their mouths.”
She leaned forward slightly. The blouse shifted and the soft heavy shape of her breasts pressed against the edge of the table for a moment. She did not adjust the cloth.
“Sunny, I need you to grow up a little faster on this subject. You are twenty-one. You earn. You contribute. That is good. But you do not get to decide the emotional and practical terms of my life. I am still the parent in this house. When I say the bike is arranged, it is arranged. When I say you will accept it cleanly, you will accept it cleanly. That is not a request.”
The controlling note was quiet but unmistakable. I looked down at my plate.
We ate more. She asked about office, about the manager, about whether the new project was stressful. I answered in short sentences. The conversation moved in and out of ordinary ground, but the weight of the money and the man behind it never fully left the table
18 November 2025 – Tuesday
The message came in the morning while I was still on the train to office. Ma had written only two lines.
*Money is arranged. Full amount. We will go to the dealer on Thursday or Friday and finish the paperwork. Tonight we are going out for dinner. Be home by 7:30.*
No explanation of where the money had come from. No long paragraph. Just the quiet finality that had become her style.
I read the message twice between stations. The train rocked and the man next to me pressed closer. I locked the phone and stared at the dark glass of the window. My own face looked back at me, tired, twenty-one, already carrying something heavier than the job.
Office passed in a blur of calls and a half-finished task. At 6:40 I left. By 7:20 I was climbing the stairs of the old building. The lift was broken again. When I opened the door of the house the first thing I noticed was the smell of her perfume — the branded one that had arrived weeks earlier. She was standing near the small mirror, adjusting the pallu of a black saree with a thin gold border. The blouse underneath was new, obviously sleeveless one, closer to her body than her older blouses. The neckline was round and low enough that the soft upper curve of her breasts was clear. She had left her hair open. The silver bracelet and the thin gold chain were both on.
She turned when she heard me.
“You are on time. Good. Change if you want. We should leave by eight.”
“Where are we going?”
“A place near Lokhandwala. Not too expensive, not too cheap. Proper food. I booked a table.”
She said it the way she now said many things — as a decision already made.
I washed my face, changed into a cleaner shirt, and came out. She was still at the mirror, putting a small bindi and checking the fall of the pallu. When she raised both arms to fix her hair the blouse stretched across her back and the deep curve of her waist showed. The saree held the full roundness of her hips without apology. She caught my eyes in the mirror and held the look for a second longer than necessary.
“You are staring again,” she said, but there was no real rebuke. Only a mild, almost amused acknowledgment. “The blouse is new. I got it stitched last week. It fits better than the old ones.”
She picked up her small handbag and the keys.
“Come. Auto will take time at this hour.”
We did not speak much in the auto. The evening air was cool. Neon signs from shops along the road reflected on the windshield. She sat with her shoulder lightly against mine because the seat was narrow. The perfume she wore was stronger at this distance. Every time the auto turned, the soft weight of her breast brushed my arm for a moment and then moved away.
The restaurant was on the first floor of a commercial building. Decent lighting, clean tables, mostly families and young office couples. We were given a table near the window. She ordered without asking me much — one butter chicken, one dal, rotis, jeera rice, and a sweet to share later. When the waiter left she folded her hands on the table and looked at me directly.
“The money is in the account. Full amount. No loan needed. The bike will be in your name. Papers will be clean. On Thursday or Friday we will go together and finish everything. Happy?”
I drank water because my throat had gone dry.
“You spoke to him.”
“I spoke to Azad ji. He asked only two questions — the approximate amount and whether you would feel strange taking it. I told him the amount and I told him my son will manage his feelings. He transferred the money the same evening. No drama. No conditions.”
She broke a piece of papad and ate it slowly.
“I want you to understand something clearly tonight. This bike is from me. I decided. I asked. I received. I am giving it to you. The fact that the money came through him does not change the first sentence. You will keep that order in your head when you ride it. Undetstood?”
“It is not that simple, Ma.”
“It is exactly that simple if you allow it to be. You wanted the bike. You did not have the money. I arranged it. Now you will take it and you will use it. The rest is noise you are creating in your own mind.”
The food arrived. She served me first, the way she had always done. For a few minutes we ate in silence. The butter chicken was good. The roti was fresh. Ordinary details of a dinner that was not ordinary at all.
After a while she spoke again, her voice lower.
“Sunny, look like you are still carrying Thursday’s conversation on your face. The mark, the things I said about my body, about liking his touch. You have not put it down.”
“How am I supposed to put it down? You told me clearly that you like it when he touches you. That you feel light when he speaks to you. That the place of a man in your life is not empty anymore. And now the same man is paying for my bike.”
She kept her spoon down and wiped the corner of her mouth with the tissue.
“Yes. The same man. I am not pretending there are two different people. There is one man. He gives attention. He gives practical help. He makes me feel like a woman again. And through me, some of that help reaches this house and reaches you. You can call it complicated. I call it practical.”
“People will say I am riding a bike bought by my mother’s… whatever he is.”
“People will say many things. They said things when I started wearing jeans. They said things when I sat in his car. They will say things when they see the new bike. Let them say. Their words do not pay our electricity bill and they do not make my days lighter. I have stopped living according to their mouths.”
She leaned forward slightly. The blouse shifted and the soft heavy shape of her breasts pressed against the edge of the table for a moment. She did not adjust the cloth.
“Sunny, I need you to grow up a little faster on this subject. You are twenty-one. You earn. You contribute. That is good. But you do not get to decide the emotional and practical terms of my life. I am still the parent in this house. When I say the bike is arranged, it is arranged. When I say you will accept it cleanly, you will accept it cleanly. That is not a request.”
The controlling note was quiet but unmistakable. I looked down at my plate.
We ate more. She asked about office, about the manager, about whether the new project was stressful. I answered in short sentences. The conversation moved in and out of ordinary ground, but the weight of the money and the man behind it never fully left the table
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