Chapter 1: The Diwali Dinner Showdown

Halfway through our Diwali dinner—when the whole family gathers, plates loaded with puris and sweets—Mummy suddenly pulled out my final exam paper and passed it around for all the relatives to see.

As the warm, spiced aroma of ghee and cardamom wafted around the dining table, Mummy, in her starched maroon saree, reached into her big black handbag, produced my final exam paper, and, with a flourish, handed it over to Mausa ji, who was reaching for another piece of gulab jamun. Chachiji adjusted her dupatta and peered over, the glint of curiosity in her eyes sharper than the Diwali lights flickering along the window grill. The hum of the pressure cooker from the kitchen underscored the sudden hush as my marks became the centrepiece of the celebration.

"English, 139.5. That's really impressive."

Mausa ji, always quick to support, nodded with a broad smile. "Wah, beta, bahut accha!" Cousin Neha clapped lightly, and Dadi beamed as if remembering her own school days in Lucknow. The relatives, not knowing the full story, sincerely praised me.

But I kept my head down, because I knew Mummy was getting ready to criticise me in front of everyone.

My fingers tightened on the edge of the steel thali, heart thumping as I prepared for the familiar sting of Mummy's words. I could feel the cool metal digging into my palm, grounding me while my ears burned with every word.

"Impressive? Kya hai isme? Teen bachche toh 140 se upar le aaye. Ananya ka score toh kam hai."

Mummy’s voice, cutting through the laughter, made everyone fall silent. Even the clinking of glasses paused. Her tone was sharp, and she didn’t even bother lowering her voice. "So much fuss over 139.5?"

"Rohan from the next flat used to do worse than her, but this time he got 143."

I could picture Rohan’s mother already boasting to her kitty party group. Even though I barely spoke to Rohan, his name was always thrown at me, as if he were my personal rival in life.

"In the board exams, even a single mark can mean a difference of dozens of ranks. If Ananya can't even get 140 in English, she'll end up with nothing."

Mummy’s words, heavy as iron, dropped in the middle of the table, making my rice taste like sand. Dadi coughed softly, as if she wished she could swallow the awkwardness.

So, getting 139.5 in English means I'm destined to fail?

I stared at the single grain of rice sticking to my thumb, the sounds of laughter and firecrackers outside on the street now distant and muffled. An overwhelming sense of defeat washed over me, as if I were a ghost at my own family's table.

After Mummy finished, I sat frozen in my chair, staring at the rice in my plate, my eyes filling with tears.

I blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall. The fairy lights on the balcony blurred into shimmering trails as I fought to keep my emotions hidden.

The number 139.5 hovered over my heart like a nightmare. I was just half a mark short of Mummy's requirement of 140, yet it felt as if I had committed some terrible crime. It wasn't enough for her to give me a good shouting at home—she had to drag me to the Diwali dinner table for a public shaming.

My tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth to keep from crying out, my fists clenched under the tablecloth. Even the aroma of freshly fried puris couldn’t comfort me now. For a moment, I envied the kids bursting crackers outside—at least their explosions were over in a flash, not drawn out all evening.

Luckily, the relatives didn't join in with Mummy. Instead, they tried to reassure her: "139.5 is already really good. Ananya works so hard—she'll definitely get into a good college."

Chachiji tried to change the topic, passing me a rasgulla with a warm smile. "Arey, 139.5 is a big thing! My own Pinky never crossed 120, and look, she is doing just fine!"

Mummy shot me a look of disdain. "If she really worked hard, she would finish her English homework tonight, instead of telling me she'll do it tomorrow morning."

She raised an eyebrow as if daring anyone to contradict her, making me want to sink lower in my seat. My fork scraped against the plate, but I had lost my appetite for everything but silence.

"But tonight is Diwali..."

Even Chachaji, who usually never interfered, piped up, shaking his head slightly. The unspoken question hung between us all—couldn’t a child get one night off?

I was so upset I could barely breathe, and I couldn't help but talk back, my neck stiffening.

I stared at the paneer, my jaw set, anger and exhaustion fighting in my chest. For once, I couldn’t hold it in. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my throat tight, voice almost a whisper but filled with all the exhaustion and hope I’d been bottling up.

I've studied hard for an entire year, gone to tuition classes every weekend. I just wanted to rest for one night with my family on Diwali—was that too much to ask?

Was wanting a small bit of happiness, a night to forget about textbooks and tests, such a big crime? My heart hammered with frustration, and I felt as if the walls themselves were pressing closer.

I'm a person too. Can't I at least celebrate the festival?

My plea, trembling and raw, dissolved in the crackle of a distant rocket outside. But the dining table remained a battlefield.

Outside, the sharp pop of a chakri spinning on the terrace made me flinch, but inside, all I could hear was Mummy’s voice.

Mummy heard my protest and picked up a piece of paneer for me, her voice gentle but unyielding: "Ananya, if you had scored above 140 in English, it would be fine to relax tonight. But you're already behind. After dinner, go home and do your homework."

She placed the paneer on my plate, her hands gentle but her eyes unyielding—a silent message that love came with conditions.

I gripped my spoon so tightly my hands shook, a tear falling into my plate.

My breath hitched, and I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. The laughter around me faded to a distant echo. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

As the fairy lights blinked on the balcony, I wondered if I’d ever feel at home at this table again.