Mama Knows Best

 

“Sanju beta. Wake up, baba.” Shantha Behl stood next to her sleeping son, who, lost in the sweet, seductive power of sleep, seemed oblivious to her pleadings. She inched a little closer and in a gentle stage whisper she repeated, “Sanju, wake up.” But Sanju’s response was a grunt. Now she put out one podgy hand tentatively and shook him gently, “Baba, you have to get up and brush your teeth and have a bath. You will be late. It’s 8.30.”

Finally, after much coaxing and cajoling, a sleepy Sanju rubbed his eyes, looked blearily at his plump mother, and reluctantly surfaced. “I want bed coffee,” he slurred. It was a hot day—typical of the sweltering heat that characterised Chennai summers. The air-conditioner was blasting in the room, emitting refreshingly cold air. Mrs. Behl walked over to the AC and turned it off. As she left the room in a hurry, she said, “You better hurry, beta. Go brush your teeth quickly.”

Her plea fell on deaf ears. Sanju lay back on the pillow and stretched out, waiting for his coffee. Mrs. Behl bustled in with a tray on which was perched Sanju’s green and gold coffee mug with his sun sign, Pisces, emblazoned on it.

“What’s for breakfast, Ma,” he sleepily asked.

“I made some aloo parantha, there’s dahi, and some green chilli pickle.”

Sanju glared at his mother. “What do you mean? What happened to the mutton curry?”

Mrs. Behl bleated, “Beta, remember, last night bhaiya and bhabi came and there was only enough for all of us. There was nothing left, baba.”

“What about some bacon or sausages?” he demanded.

“Sorry, baba, I couldn’t go to the market yesterday.”

Sanju was upset now. All thoughts of sleep were swept away. “Ma,” he groaned, “you know I hate eating without non-veg.” He gazed at her reproachfully.  

 

Mrs. Behl reached out and ruffled his hair. “Arrey, it’s only one day,” she smiled. “I will go to the market today and buy lots of bacon, sausages, and ham. I will make you butter chicken masala tonight.”

Sanju smiled at his mother. “Thanks, Ma.” 

After Sanju left for work, Mrs. Behl sank into her plush three-seater sofa. She made a list of all the things she needed to buy and then got up to make Sanju’s bed and clean the mess in his bedroom.

Kiran’s phone call cheered her up. She hadn’t seen her daughter in over six months. Finally, Kiran was flying down from Mumbai to Chennai for a week’s vacation. Her daughter and she never saw eye to eye on most things, but now that Kiran had got engaged to that well-settled boy in Dubai, Mrs. Behl was content. After all, she was thirty-two; it was high time she got married. Raju, her eldest son, was married to a Christian girl. Mrs. Behl was not happy about that, but then, what to do? Children these days never listened to their parents. Even Kiran’s betrothed, Ajay, was not Punjabi, but at least he was Hindu. Mrs. Behl sipped her tea, sloshing it into the saucer as she ruminated on the fortunes and characteristics of her three children. At least Sanju will marry a good Punjabi girl. Sanju was obedient. He knew how much she had sacrificed to bring up her children. Yes, Sanju would listen to her; she had brought him up well. She smiled happily at this thought.

The smile vanished as rapidly as it had appeared. What about Raju? Hadn’t she brought him up well? Still, he went and married that Christian hussy with all those high and mighty airs. Mini was always polite to her, but Mrs. Behl suspected, no, knew, deep down in her heart, that Mini had only contempt for her. If Raju had married a nice Punjabi girl, he would have stayed on in their family home. But that Mini, with her modern hoity-toity ways, must have bewitched him and convinced him to take a separate house. They will learn when they have children, she thought, feeling smug but vaguely dissatisfied.

Kiran was too independent. She had a heart of gold and a whiplash for a tongue. And Kiran would not hesitate to call a spade a spade. Mrs. Behl was, in fact, secretly in awe of her daughter, slightly scared too. She had been at the receiving end of Kiran’s stark home truths once too often and was careful about what she said when her daughter was around. Arrey, she would keep using all these fancy terms like ‘emotional blackmail’, you’ll give your sons a—what was that word—something Eedipus complex… whatever that meant. Kiran could be downright cruel with her bluntness, and Mrs. Behl preferred to distance herself from Kiran’s prescriptive truths!

That left her with her youngest and most beloved son Sanju. He was the ideal son—what any mother would want. He was handsome, intelligent (he worked in a big bank), and even though his friends teased him and called him a mama’s boy, he would never desert her. Mama’s boy! Hmmph! Today’s children were so selfish. They only wanted to have a good time. What was wrong if he stayed with his mother when he was thirty-two years old? He was doing his duty in looking after her. Raju had deserted her for Ms. High and Mighty. Sanju would never do that. He would never leave his old mother for another woman. She chomped happily on a Marie biscuit, wiping the crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand.

Mrs. Behl spent the morning cheerfully whipping up a sumptuous dinner for the prodigal daughter and her beloved son. The aroma of mutton mughlai biriyani and butter chicken masala wafted through the house. She busied herself chopping up onions, cucumber, tomatoes, and green chillies to make raita, and garnished it with finely chopped coriander leaves. Now for some dessert. She decided to make phirni – Kiran’s favourite sweet dish.

Kiran entered the house like a whirlwind, a burst of high-voltage energy. Kiran was always like that—like a 100-watt light bulb; she would brighten the room instantly. Mrs Behl gazed at her lovely daughter with pride. With her shiny long tresses, her peaches and cream complexion, and her willowy figure, Kiran instantly attracted attention. Mother and daughter settled down to chat animatedly, catching up on all the gossip and news from the past six months.

When Sanju got back from work, Mrs. Behl clucked and fussed in her typical manner. “Oh Sanju baba, you must be so hungry and tired… did you eat lunch… how was your day… poor baba, did you have a tough day… how did that horrible boss of yours behave… did he want you to stay late…” She prattled on as Sanju put on his best ‘I’m-so-tired’ act!

Kiran watched the entire drama with a mixture of amusement and acute annoyance. Finally, exasperation won and she snapped, “Ma, he’s not a goddamn baby. Stop fussing over him so much.”

“Oh, beti, you don’t know how hard he works. And that horrible boss of his keeps him so late most nights. By the time he comes home it is nine o’clock sometimes. He is so tired by then. You know, na, that he likes to eat dinner by nine. When he comes late, he can only eat by ten and then by the time he goes to sleep it is late because he likes to watch TV before sleeping.”

“Ma,” Kiran said in an irritated tone, “almost everyone works late these days. Sanju is not special. Even girls work till nine. What Sanju needs is to stay on his own. He is so thoroughly spoilt. He is incapable of doing anything on his own. He can’t—”

Sanju interrupted heatedly, “Why don’t you just mind your own business, didi? You’re just jealous because you have to do everything yourself.”

“Oh please! I’m happy being on my own. At least I’m not a goddamn sissy,” Kiran spat out, rolling her eyes.

Mrs. Behl’s eyes widened as she watched her offspring argue. She interjected, “Please stop both of you. Beta, I will get you some tea. Kiran, do you want some?”

Peace reigned momentarily—fragile, like a bank of thunderclouds threatening rain. Fortunately, like the much-awaited rain, it never spilled! But dinner ushered in a new situation laden with black, heavy storm clouds of tension.

As Mrs. Behl fussed and pottered around Sanju in her usual manner, Kiran sat eating her butter chicken. Sanju sat like a lord and master as his mother served him lovingly, punctuating the silence with her litany of ... “Sanju baba, do you want another roti… do you want some more chicken… don’t you like the food, beta…”

Kiran watched with growing impatience and mustered up all her willpower to bite her tongue and stay silent. Then all of a sudden, Sanju took a pause from wolfing down copious quantities of food and said, “Ma, I want to bring a friend home on Saturday for dinner.”

“Who, baba?”

“She’s a colleague of mine from office. Her name is Vandana. I like her and want you to meet her.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the momentary pregnant silence that followed this announcement. It was, however, the calm before the storm. Then Mrs. Behl exploded, “A girl? You want to bring some girl home? What, you want to marry her, hah? You children are so selfish. What about me? I thought you at least will marry someone of my choice, but now even you betray me. That is…”

Sanju cut in exasperatedly, “Ma, for heaven’s sake. Don’t just take off without hearing what I have to say. I said I like her. We are still getting to know each other. We haven’t yet decided to get married or anything. Let’s see how things go.”

Kiran agreed. “Ma, don’t fly off the handle. And anyway, what’s wrong with him finding someone? Stop treating him like a child.”

But Mrs. Behl was not to be mollified. Thunderclouds of anger poured forth a torrent of very angry rain! “You don’t tell me how I should feel, okay? Both you and your brother did as you pleased. Look at Raju; he married a Christian girl. Will I ever be able to live with them? And you, okay, you are marrying a Hindu, but why could it not be a Punjabi? And now, my youngest son, in whom I had so many hopes, is also bringing a girl home. Who will look after me? I thought I would find Sanju a nice girl and they could live here. Now he goes and gets someone himself. What will—”

“Oh! Stop it!” Kiran glared at her mother. “Don’t you think he is entitled to his life? And why should his wife come and stay here? She’ll be miserable with you fussing and pampering him all the time like he is some goddamn child in nappies. Let him grow up.”

“You keep quiet, Kiran. I am all alone. I cannot stay on my own. I thought Sanju will live with me.”

“So, can’t you come and live with each of us for a few months? I mean, what’s the big deal? You can stay alone for a few months too. Nothing will happen to you. There are lots of women who live alone. You won’t be the only one.”

But, Mrs. Behl was not to be mollified. “I always thought after your father died, that one of my sons will look after me. Raju married that Christian. Then I thought Sanju will take care of me. Now see. Even he wants to abandon me.”

Now it was Sanju’s turn to get angry. “Ma, stop it! Don’t you listen to anything I say? I just told you, I like her, and I haven’t decided to marry her as yet. And, whoever I marry will have to agree to stay here. I am very clear about that. I will look after you and stay with you. So, just cut out this drama.”

Kiran stared at her brother stunned. “What happens, Sanju, if the girl doesn’t want to stay with her mother-in-law in tow? How do you decide on that? Suppose she wants you to stay with her parents, would you like it?”

Mrs. Behl interjected, “The girl stays where the boy wants. It is not the other way around. Kiran, you may be very modern-shodern with all these funny ideas, but in India, we listen to our husbands and live where they want. Sanju’s wife will live with me.”

 

Kiran groaned and cradled her head in her hands. “Ma, that is ridiculous. Sanju’s wife will never be happy in this house. You may hate the truth, but let me tell you something. You are very possessive about him and you will never give him and his wife any time alone. You know what will happen? One fine day, that wife will decide that enough is enough and leave him or she will force him to move out of this house. If you want your son and wife to be unhappy, then go ahead with what you want. If you really care about his happiness, then let him find someone and let them live their own life without you being a constant presence in their life. I would hate to live with a mother-in-law like you who just never leaves her son alone.” Kiran picked up her plate and stalked off to the kitchen in a huff. She had had enough of her mother’s emotional blackmail and drama!

On Saturday, the house wore a funereal air of dark foreboding. The only sounds that shattered the silence were the banging of pots and pans, as Mrs. Behl vented her temper on the poor inanimate objects in the kitchen as she cooked. Kiran ignored her mother’s sulks and pouts and shut herself up in the bedroom to relax and catch up on her reading. Darling Sanju, of course, spent the whole day sleeping and watching TV.

As Mrs. Behl cooked, the thoughts swirled in her mind like a snowstorm—an endless flow of little eddies that churned her mind like that ever-popular, evergreen Punjabi delicacy—lassi! What if that Vandana was dark and ugly? If they got married, then—hai, hai— the children would also be black. What if she influenced Sanju and came between him and his mother? Suppose she never agreed to live with them and wanted him to take another house? And if she did live with them, would she listen to her mother-in-law? Would she boss poor Sanju—he was such an innocent boy, a good son who listened to his mother. If it were a Punjabi girl, at least she would know that the mother-in-law was the boss in the house, but these Tamilians, who knew? What if she was one of those modern-shodern types like her Kiran. Then she would never listen to her mother-in-law. She would definitely make Sanju live away from his mother.

Now waves of self-pity began to wash away the anger. Poor me, after all that I have done for my children, they will all leave me and go away. I will be alone with no one to look after me. Who will I cook for? What will I do? If Sanju listens to me, I will find him a good Punjabi girl who is obedient and well brought up and who will know her place in her in-laws’ house. 

The doorbell rang, piercing her reverie. Vandana stood at the doorway, an antithesis of what Mrs. Behl had imagined her to be. She was tall and fair and wore an air of self-confidence. Sanju introduced her to his mother. “Ma, meet Vandana.”

Vandana smiled broadly, “Hello Aunty, I’m so happy to meet you.”

Mrs. Behl managed to squeeze out a tight smile. “Hello,” she said abruptly and turned her back and stalked off into the kitchen.

Silence settled over the room—uncomfortable and heavy with uncertainty. Vandana stood bewildered at the doorway, tentative about whether to enter or not after that rude welcome.

Just then Kiran came out of her bedroom. “Hey, you must be Vandana. Hi! Do come in. I am Kiran, Sanju’s sister.”

Vandana looked relieved. She smiled and entered. “Hi, Kiran. I’ve heard so much about you from Sanju.”

The girls settled themselves on the plush velvet-upholstered sofa and began to chat animatedly. Sanju dashed into the kitchen and hissed to his mother, “Ma, what was all that about? You were so rude. That is no way to behave.”

Mrs. Behl was in sulk mode, so she refused to acknowledge her son’s tirade. She continued with what she was doing and, after a brief silence, she turned to Sanju and said, “I am making some tea. You can take it to the drawing room.”

“No, I will not. You bring it out and come and speak to Vandana.’ He stomped out angrily.

The tea was served in near-silence. Mrs. Behl came out holding a tray, her back stiff, her countenance grim. When she reached Vandana, she managed a weak smile and handed her a mug of tea. “Please have,” was all she uttered before turning back to her refuge—the kitchen. Kiran and Sanju exchanged looks. 

Kiran turned to Vandana with a bright smile and began a stream of absolutely inane chatter—anything to cover up the embarrassment of her mother’s appalling behaviour. Vandana, in turn, pretended not to have noticed Mrs. Behl’s boorish conduct. An uneasy truce hung like a cloud of pollutants in the air— unpleasant, visibly unacknowledged, but very much present.

It was an evening of unmitigated disasters—a mini-flood of them, in fact! Mrs. Behl laid out a scrumptious meal—there were cauliflower parathas, pea’s pulao, stuffed ladyfingers, aloo tikkis, and a rich chicken korma along with a deliciously fresh raita. Vandana enjoyed the meal but was uncertain about whether she could take seconds or not! Mrs. Behl stood over the trio, hustling around Sanju to make sure that he got enough to eat. Kiran was appalled at her mother’s manners but in the present circumstances, she decided it was wise to remain silent. Once the food arrived, Sanju was not too bothered about playing the gracious host to Vandana; he was only concerned about the spread on his plate, gobbling it down fast and furiously. Kiran was forced into the role of gracious hostess, and she did her best to make the hapless guest feel welcome and at home. Mrs. Behl did occasionally ask Vandana, a tad ungraciously, if she would like some more but never served the girl, even once.

But Mrs. Behl never let up on fussing over Sanju, and Kiran observed Vandana, who was watching the action as subtly as she could. Vandana looked bemused and amused, and Kiran felt hot with shame. How could her mother behave in this utterly atrocious manner in front of a guest, that too Sanju’s guest? It appeared as though Mrs. Behl was staking her claim as Sanju’s true and only owner and caretaker, as if she were making it clear to Vandana that Sanju depended on her and no one else and that nothing and no one could replace that position. Vandana was too well-bred to comment or show her disapproval, if any. She silently ate her food, murmuring occasionally about how delicious it was. The bubbly girl who had been chatting with Kiran enthusiastically had transformed into a quiet shadow of her former self. Poor thing, Kiran thought, she must be apprehensive about talking in front of Ma because she must be wondering when she will be snubbed again!

But Vandana must have been feeling uncomfortable about not speaking to Sanju’s mother. Suddenly she turned and said, “You cook so well, Aunty. I just loved every dish. How do you manage it? At home, my mother makes only vegetarian food. I love non-veg and I want to learn how to cook this chicken dish you’ve made.”

Mrs. Behl sniffed, “Well, buy a cookbook and learn. In the north, we make very tasty food, unlike you Madrasis. In fact, Sanju hates Madrasi food—all those idlis and dosas. He likes his mother’s cooking best, don’t you, Sanju?” She gave a small artificial laugh.

Vandana’s face fell at this obvious snub and she looked as if she had been slapped across her cheek. Kiran died a hundred deaths, and even Sanju had the grace to look embarrassed. Vandana cleared her throat and said, “Mmm… hmm, I see…” She appeared to be at a loss for words.

Finally, the wretched evening came to an end. Vandana had driven there in her car, so she left on her own. While Sanju and Kiran escorted her to the lift, Mrs. Behl just said a tight, unfriendly goodnight.

That night, it stormed and thundered in the Behl household. While Sanju stayed silent his mother, Kiran took off like a hurricane in full stride. Mrs. Behl stayed silent, refusing to respond to anything that was said.

Finally, Kiran shouted, “Ma, you are rude and ill-mannered, and your behaviour was disgusting, do you hear me, disgusting! How dare you behave like that with a guest? And, Sanju, what are you, a baby? Sanju, learn to be a man, otherwise don’t get married.”

No one dared cross Kiran when she was in one of these moods—most definitely not Sanju! Mrs. Behl seemed to have taken an oath of silence; she rested her head back on the sofa with her eyes closed, sniffing and snivelling once in a while, but never saying a word. Kiran finally gave up and left the room in a rage.

The week passed uneventfully. No mention was made of Vandana or the debacle that had occurred. Kiran had decided that it was pointless to try and speak to her brother; his apron strings were tied too tightly around his mother! Mrs. Behl continued her monotonous routine—cooking, cleaning, going to the temple, and meeting up with her friends. The high point in her life was when Sanju was at home—to be clucked, fussed, petted, and pampered over.

Then Saturday came again. Sanju and Kiran were lolling around on the divan watching some inane soap opera on a Hindi channel, and Mrs. Behl was dusting the furniture. She interrupted their viewing with, “Beta, what would you like for dinner tonight? I thought I’ll make some chicken biriyani.”

Sanju turned the volume down using the remote and turned his attention to his mother. “Ma, I am taking Vandana out for dinner tonight. Then we thought we’d hit the discotheque, so don’t bother making dinner for me.”

Now it was Kiran’s turn to stop watching TV; the real-life drama about to unfold in front of her was far more entertaining!

“You’re still seeing that girl? Arrey, you never told me, “Mrs. Behl complained. She began to furiously dust the top of the sideboard, scrubbing it frantically.

“I like her, Ma,” Sanju replied. “And we’ve been meaning to go out to Southern Spice for a long time. The food is supposed to be great.”

Now the sniffing and snivelling came on in full swing. “Sniff, I always wanted to go there but of course, you will take that girl but not your mother. I cook every day for you, all your favourite dishes, but you can’t take me to a hotel. That is only for your girlfriends. This is my fate, to be left alone in the house while my children go to all the five-star hotels.”

Sanju looked stricken and gulped uncertainly. Kiran quickly interrupted, “Ma, we’ll take you one of these days. Let Sanju take Vandana out tonight. Or, Ma, we both could go out for dinner tonight. I will take you to Cascade. They serve amazing Chinese food. Shall we do that?”

“Sanju promised me more than two months back that he would take me for dinner, but always he will say he doesn’t have the time,” Mrs. Behl whined. “But, oh yes, he has time to take this girl, but not his own mother. If he plans to marry this girl, why don’t we all go for dinner tonight? I can also get to know her. And, Kiran, so can you. After all, you are leaving tomorrow night.”

Sanju seemed lost for words. He gaped and tried desperately to gather his thoughts and take the most diplomatic way out of this mess. He looked helplessly at Kiran. But his sibling had decided that enough was enough, and now it was time for Sanju to take a decision. Kiran was quite sure of the outcome and grinned to herself, thinking, Maybe I’m clairvoyant! I just know how this damn scene is going to end.

Peace finally descended on the Behl household—a peace brought about by emotional blackmail and catered to by passive acquiescence. Sanju had decided that the whole family would go on the date! After all, his poor mother was right; she was stuck at home all day and deserved an outing. Vandana’s feelings did not even enter his mind; he was sure she would have no objections to his mother tagging along. After all, she had to be understanding and agree. Ma had sacrificed everything for her kids, and the least he could do was take her out. It would be a fun evening; Ma could be so charming and witty, and he was sure Vandana would adore her. They could drop Ma and Kiran back after dinner and go to the disco.

Kiran was not in the least bit keen to be a gooseberry, but the thought of her mother on the rampage with Vandana with no one to protect that poor girl prompted her to go.

If the Behl entourage accompanying Sanju and her for dinner surprised Vandana, she was too gracious to let it show. Mrs. Behl had, naturally, occupied the front seat in the car, so Vandana got in at the back where Kiran was seated. “Hello everybody,” she trilled. “Hello Aunty, how are you?”

Mrs. Behl turned around, glanced briefly at Vandana, and then, without saying a word, she turned back and fixed her gaze in front. This time, Vandana looked visibly annoyed. Kiran quickly cut in with conversation to break the awkward silence that had settled down in the car like a thick, overpowering fog.

At the restaurant, Mrs. Behl’s rude behaviour continued. She plonked herself next to Sanju, leaving Kiran and Vandana on one side. When the menu cards arrived, Sanju handed one to her and said, “Ma, you decide what we will eat. Vandana, please order what you like. I just have to step out to make a call.” The restaurant was packed to capacity and the din was overbearing; there was no way he could have made a call from the table.

After pondering over the menu for what seemed like an eternity, Mrs. Behl finally placed the order. She turned to Kiran and said, “Beti, is there anything you want in particular? I know Sanju loves prawn so I am ordering some for him.”

Kiran glared at her mother and turned to Vandana, “What would you like? Is there anything special you want?”

Vandana had a stricken expression on her face and looked like she was ready to cry. She looked down at the placemat and slowly shook her head from side to side. Kiran persisted in a kind voice, “Hey, Vandana, please, order something you like. This dinner is for you.”

Her reply was soft and her voice broke as she spoke, “No… really…thanks… I…” and she trailed off. She sat uncomfortably, playing with the spoon and fork on her table. Then suddenly she got up and said, “Excuse me, I’ll just be back. I need to use the restroom.” She scraped the chair back and rushed out of the restaurant.

“Are you happy?” Kiran asked her mother sarcastically. “You just succeeded in humiliating that poor girl. I can’t believe that anyone with even a bit of class could behave the way you did...”

Putting on an innocent, almost angelic reply, Mrs. Behl said, “What did I do wrong? I let her come to my house, I gave her very good khaana, I never said anything bad to her. What more do you want—that I should hug her and kiss her for trying to take my son away from me? Arrey, you have such funny ideas. Okay, so she is as fair as us Punjabis, but I am sure her parents don’t go to hotels like these. They must be sitting at home and eating idli-sambhar. I am not interfering between her and Sanju. If he wants to marry her then, bas, I will not say anything.”

Kiran threw up her hand in exasperation. They sat silently, waiting for Sanju and Vandana to return and waiting for the soup so that they could occupy themselves with doing something. Kiran drummed her hands on the table and looked around at the well-dressed hordes around her. There were happy couples, happy families, groups of friends in high spirits, all having a whale of a time, chatting animatedly, savouring their food, and laughing aloud. Their table seemed to belong elsewhere—an island of grimness and anger in a sea of joy and laughter.

Mrs. Behl kept looking at her watch and glancing anxiously towards the door to see where her beloved Sanju was. She wondered if that stupid girl was telling Sanju tales about her, trying to turn him against his mother. She sipped her iced water nervously.

Finally, the soup arrived, but there was still no sign of the couple. Mrs Behl turned to Kiran and said, “Beti, go see where they are and tell them to come and eat.”

Kiran looked her straight in the eye. “Ma, you eat. You wanted to come here, right? You wanted to eat the food here, now eat it. Why should you care if Sanju and Vandana don’t eat? Especially Vandana. I mean, the evening was meant to be for Vandana, but you decided it had to be about you. So now, you eat.” She placed careful emphasis on the word ‘you’.

She lapsed into silence and gazed at her soup in disgust. Kiran’s appetite had dissipated; all she wanted now was for this ghastly evening to end.

Just then Sanju made an appearance. His face was a rainbow of conflicting emotions— bewilderment, sadness, pain, anger, and disappointment. The emotions flitted across his countenance in a dizzying kaleidoscope—each replacing the other in a series of quick changes until they seemed to liquefy into a melting pot.

He pulled his chair back and sat down and started stuttering. “I… I… mmm… uh… Vandana has gone home.”

Kiran looked up startled. Mrs. Behl continued to slurp her soup with loud, irritating delight. Kiran snapped, “What do you mean?”

Sanju looked like a lost little boy. “We… uh… had an argument outside. She… well… she was in tears and said she wasn’t going to take Ma’s rude behaviour anymore. I told her… I said Ma is old, forget it, she will come around. But… but… Vandana flew into a rage and she said some horrible things about Ma and me—”

Phoenix-like, the silent Mrs. Behl suddenly came to life. “What, what do you mean, beta? What did she say about me? And she shouted at you also? I always thought she is not a nice girl—too modern. See, you are better off without her. I will find you a nice girl. Don’t worry, baba.”

But Sanju was genuinely distraught and hurt. He blinked and said, “Ma, I really liked her. She is beautiful, intelligent, and very nice. And she told me just last week that she was open to having a serious relationship with me. What happened? What will I do without her?”

The main course arrived, but Sanju just waved his hand at the waiter, signalling to him to leave the dishes on the table. Kiran’s heart suddenly went out to her younger brother. “Sanju, don’t worry. You have had your first scrap. Go to office on Monday, buy her a huge bunch of roses, take her out to lunch and apologise to her. Believe me—”

Sanju interrupted, “Didi, you don’t understand. She told me it’s over.” Sanju took a deep breath. He paused and drank some water, “She said she had never come across someone as crass and as… mmm… crude as Ma; she said, ‘I detest your mother and if marrying you means I have to put up with her, then sorry, Sanju.’ She refused to listen to me, didi. She just kept saying no, no, no. And… and… she just… turned… and walked away.” He looked crestfallen, heartbroken, like a little boy who had lost his lollipop.

For once, Kiran was lost for words. The waiters were hovering at the table, waiting to serve them. Both Sanju and Kiran said they were not hungry. Mrs. Behl too, for once, was silent. She was uncertain about what to say. Having finished devouring the soup, she gesticulated to the waiter to serve her some noodles and chicken and busied herself in the process of gobbling down her meal.

Finally, Kiran spoke. “Sanju, can I tell you something frankly?”

Mrs. Behl interrupted, “You don’t need to give him advice. He knows what to do. He loves me; after all I am his mother.”

“Ma, just keep quiet,” Kiran said through gritted teeth. “I mean it. You are like a black widow spider weaving a complicated web to suit your purpose. Can’t you see Sanju is hurting? He really liked that girl, but you ruined it for him. Anyway, Sanju, you have to decide whether you want to be tied to Ma’s apron strings for the rest of your life or you want to become independent. If you want a doormat for a wife, marry someone of Ma’s choice— she will be happy and I guess so will you.” Kiran pushed the chair back and stood up. “I’m off home. I don’t want to sit here right now. Bye.” She stalked off towards the door.

Sanju gaped like a goldfish; he was stuck for words and, secretly, he was a bit scared of getting up to follow Kiran in case his mother got offended. He sighed deeply and tried to swallow the lump in his throat; it was almost like a physical pain, as though he had a fishbone stuck inside. He tried to quell his panic, his hurt, his feelings of desperation. How would he face Vandana tomorrow in the office? Would she tell everyone? Would they all hate him or, worse still, laugh at him? He felt humiliated, small, and terribly sad. The future looked so bleak without Vandana’s bubbly laughter, her kind eyes, her delicately beautiful face. Who would listen to his problems, who could he talk to late in the night… oh God! What was he to do?

The silence enveloped the table in a tight bind. Mother and son sat engrossed in their own worlds. Sanju was a portrait of misery. And Mrs. Behl? She gobbled her food down, burped, and belched occasionally, revelling in the outing to a ‘star hotel’ with her wonderful son. She gave him the sporadic sympathetic glance, but deep, deep down in the recesses of her heart, she smiled happily. From time to time, she could not disguise the smug smile from altering the contours of her face. Her daughter may be angry, her son may be sad, but Shantha Behl was a happy woman. After all, she had won!