Chapter 3: Papa on Paper

Mum didn’t feel safe leaving me alone in the hotel, so she took me to the office where she was working.

She and her colleagues had to go upstairs for a meeting, and it wasn’t convenient to take me along.

She checked my pink smartwatch over and over, and told me:

“If anything happens, call Mummy. Don’t trust strangers easily. If you need help, ask the lady at the reception, okay?”

Her voice was strict but loving, the way Indian mums get when they’re trying not to worry too much. I nodded hard.

As soon as Mum disappeared into the lift, I hopped off my seat and walked out of the building.

I looked back once, just to make sure the security uncle wasn’t watching. Barrage comments kept rolling in front of my eyes.

[Little Meera, see that black Audi coming? The man inside is your dad.]

[Arrey, this plot is wild, yaar. Did the writer change the story? Run up and hug his leg, beta!]

[The boss energy—no doubt, that's your father.]

[……]

I looked at the tall building not far away. A black car slowly pulled up to the entrance.

The car’s chrome gleamed in the sun. I watched as the driver—wearing those typical dark sunglasses—opened the door. The air smelled of petrol and dust, and I felt my heart thump. The car stopped, and I saw two men get out.

The man in front had a cold, handsome face, like a gust of wind.

He walked with the confidence I’d seen only in movie heroes. Barrage:

[Child, ah ah ah, that’s him, run up and hug his leg, he’s not just your biological dad, that’s your rich second-generation life.]

I didn’t hesitate. I ran forward with my short legs and hugged that man’s leg with lightning speed.

The fabric of his trousers was stiff and smooth under my cheek, and I could smell aftershave and something expensive I didn’t recognize. Then I looked up and shouted loudly:

“Papa!”

“Give me money!”

“I want to save Mummy!”

Dad has to raise the child.

The child has to raise Mum.

Makes perfect sense.

At that moment, everything fell silent.

I heard birds somewhere, a honk in the distance, but the whole world seemed to stop. A moment later, an impatient voice sounded above my head: “Where did this little motu come from?”

Little motu?

Me?

I suddenly looked up at the source of the voice. It was a man especially tall to me, lowering his head to meet my gaze.

His eyes were sharp, his eyebrows thick, and there was a kind of frown that made me wonder how Mum ever called him good-looking. Just like Mum said, very good-looking.

But he did look fierce.

“I’m not fat.” Mum said I’m just growing, chubby, and cute.

The other man in a grey suit wiped imaginary sweat from his face: “Sir, maybe an employee brought their child today.”

He looked like he wanted to disappear, but after speaking, he squatted down to look at me, his tone gentle: “Beta, tell uncle, who are your parents? Uncle will help you find them, okay?”

I looked up again at the man I was hugging: “Uncle, my dad is right here.”

“Who?” He froze, pointing at the man I was holding, hesitantly asking, “Our boss Arjun?”

I nodded hard.

He stopped talking, stood up, and stammered to his boss: “Sir, you see…”

The man called Arjun looked down at me and snorted coldly.

“Little motu, didn’t your family teach you, you can eat anything but you can’t say anything you want? How come I don’t know I have such a big daughter?”

His words were sharp, but there was something funny in his eyes. I stood a little straighter. “Well, I’m telling you now, so now you know.” I said.

“…I’m not.”

“But you are my dad. Mum says my eyes are like yours, and I eat all my bhindi just like you, she told me.”

“Says who?” He squatted down to look at me. “Do you even know my name, calling me dad?”

“I do, you’re Arjun Malhotra.” The barrage sisters said so.

He froze: “You know me?”

“You’re my dad, of course I know you.” I looked at him and said.

He stared at me for a while, then laughed: “Little motu, who taught you to come here and scam me?”

“I’m not called little motu, you can call me Meera.”

I folded my arms, just like I’d seen Mum do when she was being serious.

“Fine, Meera, uncle really doesn’t have time to play with you. Go with that uncle to contact your parents, okay?”

“No, are you going to abandon your daughter?” I stared at him. “Mum said you’re not that kind of person. Did you lie to my mum?”

Several uncles and aunties were standing nearby, all looking like they were watching a scene from a serial.

Someone in the back even whispered, “Arrey, picture abhi baaki hai!”

He really seemed amused: “Fine, tell me who your mum is. I want to see who I supposedly had such a big daughter with.”

“My mum is Priya Jain.” I said.