15-08-2026, 11:04 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-09-2026, 02:17 PM by Authorsunny. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 17 - Part 2
24 November 2025 – Monday (continued)
I walked half a step behind her, carrying nothing except my wallet and phone, already feeling the weight of the day that was about to unfold.
On the second-floor landing Mrs. Desai was standing with two other women from the building, all three holding small steel plates with diyas and sweets for the usual celebration exchange. They looked up as we came down. The conversation between them stopped for a second.
Mrs. Desai’s eyes moved over Ma from the open neckline of the blouse down to the way the light chiffon clung to her hips and then back up to the jhumkas and the careful makeup. One of the other women, the one from the first floor who always wore thick glass bangles, raised her eyebrows just enough to be noticed.
“Happy celebration , Anjali ben,” Mrs. Desai said, her voice sweet and sharp at the same time. “Arre, looking so fresh today. New saree?”
Ma stopped and folded her hands politely.
“Happy celebration . Yes, an old one I had kept aside. You also look nice.”
The third woman, older, from the ground-floor corner flat, smiled with her lips only.
“Going out with Sunny beta? Or someone is coming to pick you up?”
The question was not innocent. Everyone in the building had seen the white sedan enough times by now.
Ma answered without any change in expression.
“We are going for some shopping. Crackers and a few clothes. Happy celebration to your family also.”
She moved past them before more questions could come. I followed. I felt their eyes on my back the entire way down the last flight of stairs. One of them said something in a low voice that I could not catch, but the short laugh that followed was clear enough.
Outside, the November morning was bright and slightly cool. The lane still smelled of last night’s gunpowder and incense. The white sedan was parked a few metres away from the entrance, engine already running. Azad Sahab stood beside the open passenger door. He wore a crisp cream pathani suit and dark sunglasses that he removed when he saw us.
His eyes went straight to Ma. He did not hide the appreciation. They moved slowly over the soft peach chiffon, the wide scoop of the blouse, the bare shoulders, the way the light material followed the full shape of her breasts and the round curve of her hips, the jhumkas, the fresh bindi, the painted nails. The look lasted long enough for anyone watching to notice.
“Happy celebration ,” he said, his voice warmer than the polite tone he usually used in front of others.
Ma’s cheeks coloured slightly, but she did not look away.
“Happy celebration , Azad Sahab.”
He opened the door wider and held it. As she moved to sit, his hand rested for a moment on the bare skin of her upper arm, just above the elbow, guiding her in. The touch was light and familiar. She did not pull away. The chiffon of the saree whispered against the car seat as she settled.
I walked around to the other side. He looked at me over the roof of the car and gave a short nod, just like the last time.
“Sunny. Happy celebration to you too. Sit comfortably.”
I sat in the back. The door closed. The air-conditioning was already cool. The moment the car began to move away from the building I saw Mrs. Desai and the other two women still standing near the entrance, watching the sedan leave. One of them had her phone out, but I could not tell if she was taking a photograph or only checking a message.
Inside the car the atmosphere changed at once. Azad Sahab glanced sideways at Ma while driving, the sunglasses now resting on the dashboard.
“The jhumkas were the right choice,” he said. “They move when you turn your head. I like that.”
Ma smiled at the windscreen, a small private smile.
“They are old. I have had them for years.”
“Then they have been waiting for the right day to come out again.” He shifted gears smoothly. “The blouse also. The neck is better than the ones you usually wear. It shows you properly.”
She did not scold him or ask him to lower his voice. She only adjusted the pallu a little, which had the effect of drawing the wide scoop neck slightly lower for a second before she settled it again.
“Don’t start in the car,” she said, but there was no real warning in her tone. “Sunny is here.”
“Sunny is not a child.” He glanced at me in the rear-view mirror for a brief moment. “He already understands more than he says. Isn’t that right, Sunny?”
I met his eyes in the mirror and then looked away without answering. The silence that followed was comfortable for them and heavy for me.
Ma turned the conversation toward practical things, as if trying to create a safer surface.
“First the mall,” she said. “Clothes. Sunny needs one or two better shirts and maybe jeans. After that we can buy some clothes for both of us. Then crackers. I don’t want to keep him out the whole day. In the evening we should be home to light the diyas again and burst some crackers in the lane.”
24 November 2025 – Monday (continued)
I walked half a step behind her, carrying nothing except my wallet and phone, already feeling the weight of the day that was about to unfold.
On the second-floor landing Mrs. Desai was standing with two other women from the building, all three holding small steel plates with diyas and sweets for the usual celebration exchange. They looked up as we came down. The conversation between them stopped for a second.
Mrs. Desai’s eyes moved over Ma from the open neckline of the blouse down to the way the light chiffon clung to her hips and then back up to the jhumkas and the careful makeup. One of the other women, the one from the first floor who always wore thick glass bangles, raised her eyebrows just enough to be noticed.
“Happy celebration , Anjali ben,” Mrs. Desai said, her voice sweet and sharp at the same time. “Arre, looking so fresh today. New saree?”
Ma stopped and folded her hands politely.
“Happy celebration . Yes, an old one I had kept aside. You also look nice.”
The third woman, older, from the ground-floor corner flat, smiled with her lips only.
“Going out with Sunny beta? Or someone is coming to pick you up?”
The question was not innocent. Everyone in the building had seen the white sedan enough times by now.
Ma answered without any change in expression.
“We are going for some shopping. Crackers and a few clothes. Happy celebration to your family also.”
She moved past them before more questions could come. I followed. I felt their eyes on my back the entire way down the last flight of stairs. One of them said something in a low voice that I could not catch, but the short laugh that followed was clear enough.
Outside, the November morning was bright and slightly cool. The lane still smelled of last night’s gunpowder and incense. The white sedan was parked a few metres away from the entrance, engine already running. Azad Sahab stood beside the open passenger door. He wore a crisp cream pathani suit and dark sunglasses that he removed when he saw us.
His eyes went straight to Ma. He did not hide the appreciation. They moved slowly over the soft peach chiffon, the wide scoop of the blouse, the bare shoulders, the way the light material followed the full shape of her breasts and the round curve of her hips, the jhumkas, the fresh bindi, the painted nails. The look lasted long enough for anyone watching to notice.
“Happy celebration ,” he said, his voice warmer than the polite tone he usually used in front of others.
Ma’s cheeks coloured slightly, but she did not look away.
“Happy celebration , Azad Sahab.”
He opened the door wider and held it. As she moved to sit, his hand rested for a moment on the bare skin of her upper arm, just above the elbow, guiding her in. The touch was light and familiar. She did not pull away. The chiffon of the saree whispered against the car seat as she settled.
I walked around to the other side. He looked at me over the roof of the car and gave a short nod, just like the last time.
“Sunny. Happy celebration to you too. Sit comfortably.”
I sat in the back. The door closed. The air-conditioning was already cool. The moment the car began to move away from the building I saw Mrs. Desai and the other two women still standing near the entrance, watching the sedan leave. One of them had her phone out, but I could not tell if she was taking a photograph or only checking a message.
Inside the car the atmosphere changed at once. Azad Sahab glanced sideways at Ma while driving, the sunglasses now resting on the dashboard.
“The jhumkas were the right choice,” he said. “They move when you turn your head. I like that.”
Ma smiled at the windscreen, a small private smile.
“They are old. I have had them for years.”
“Then they have been waiting for the right day to come out again.” He shifted gears smoothly. “The blouse also. The neck is better than the ones you usually wear. It shows you properly.”
She did not scold him or ask him to lower his voice. She only adjusted the pallu a little, which had the effect of drawing the wide scoop neck slightly lower for a second before she settled it again.
“Don’t start in the car,” she said, but there was no real warning in her tone. “Sunny is here.”
“Sunny is not a child.” He glanced at me in the rear-view mirror for a brief moment. “He already understands more than he says. Isn’t that right, Sunny?”
I met his eyes in the mirror and then looked away without answering. The silence that followed was comfortable for them and heavy for me.
Ma turned the conversation toward practical things, as if trying to create a safer surface.
“First the mall,” she said. “Clothes. Sunny needs one or two better shirts and maybe jeans. After that we can buy some clothes for both of us. Then crackers. I don’t want to keep him out the whole day. In the evening we should be home to light the diyas again and burst some crackers in the lane.”
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