Chapter 6: The Final Settlement

Our Kaveripur flat is in a school colony. Usually, I live there with the housekeeper aunty. Dad and Amma lived in the bungalow in the western suburbs. Sometimes I ran between both places, waiting for Dad to pick me up. Now I wondered—did Dad send me away so he could hurt Amma, knowing she couldn’t speak? My fists clenched at the thought.

The elevator groaned as we went up, neon lights flickering in the corridor. Neighbours’ TVs blared cricket, the air smelled of frying onions. Our little home was worlds away from the bungalow, but it was ours.

When we entered, the flat was crowded. Dad sat idly on the sofa, legs crossed, red-soled shoes on display. He looked lazy and careless. The maids used to say he was always like this before Amma. So he’d just been pretending all along.

The room was thick with perfume and fresh marigolds. Everyone stared as we entered. Dad barely glanced up, thumb on his phone. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, but it vanished.

"You’re here."

His voice was flat, impatient. Aunty Lata moved aside, lips pursed in distaste. Their eyes measured us by our old slippers and simple clothes.

Priya was busy in the kitchen, making cookies and chai. She placed a steaming cup in front of Dad. He lazily lifted his eyelids, his hand unconsciously pressing down on the chair, making the sofa sink. Every time he saw Amma, he lost his composure. He held his breath, Adam’s apple bobbing, though he tried to hide it.

The smell of elaichi chai mixed with butter. Priya smiled at Dad, eyes full of meaning. Amma stood at the door, hands folded, refusing to come in fully.

I looked at Amma. She wore a plain white kurta. After a moment, Dad closed his eyes and returned to normal. He glanced indifferently at Priya. "I don’t like chai."

His rejection cut through the air. Amma looked down, lips curving just a little in satisfaction. Priya’s hand hovered over the tray.

She paused. "You used to like it."

"That was before."

Dadi tried to smooth things for Priya. "Everyone’s tastes change. You just came back, it’s normal not to know. You have a foundation of feelings. After marriage, you’ll get to know each other."

Dadi’s words were sugary, but her meaning clear—Priya was to take Amma’s place. The elders nodded, acting wise and forgiving.

Sneha Aunty snorted. "We’re not here to watch your little love show."

She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d stick. A few aunties giggled, but quickly sobered as Dadi glared.

Everyone got down to business. Secretary Singh was called in. He respectfully called Amma ‘Madam.’ Dadi glared. "Soon she won’t be. Why are you calling her that?"

Secretary Singh shuffled his papers, eyes never meeting Amma’s.

The spoiled son went to hug Priya’s leg. "This is my aunty. Aunty, you smell so nice and are so pretty."

Priya smiled provocatively, though her eyes flashed with disgust at the kid. She signaled Secretary Singh. "Hurry and get this settled. Mother-in-law picked a good day. Just these few days—can’t be delayed."

She clapped her hands, eager to finish. The elders nodded, ready to wash their hands of us.

He nodded lightly. "Who takes care of the child?"

Aunty Sunita and Aunty Lata raised their hands. "Me."

Their voices overlapped, each desperate for a share. Secretary Singh scribbled in his notepad.

"Housework, like laundry and cooking?"

Aunty Meena raised her hand. "Me."

"Bungalow maintenance—did Madam participate?"

"No."

"Homework tutoring for the child?"

Aunty Sunita said, "That’s Mr. Mehra."

She saw the chaos every day.

Secretary Singh licked his lips. "So what exactly has Madam done?"

Everyone fell silent.

Even the wall clock seemed to stop. Amma stood, back straight, staring at nothing. I squeezed her hand tighter.

Aunty Sunita racked her brains. What had Amma done… Even getting up and washing up, Mr. Mehra carried her down. Aunty Lata interjected, "Actually, Madam did a lot."

She fiddled with her dupatta, thinking.

Secretary Singh turned to her. "Please, go ahead."

She counted on her fingers, "When Mr. Mehra cooked, she picked vegetables. When Mr. Mehra mopped the floor, she wiped his sweat. After Pari was born, she nursed for four days, waking up several times a night. When Mr. Mehra carried Pari, she poured water for him. Also, all the fish at home were cleaned by her."

She smiled shyly at Amma, as if seeing her for the first time. I felt proud, even if no one else did.

Secretary Singh looked over. "This… it seems there’s no way to compensate Mrs. Lin for anything."

He glanced at Amma, voice softening. Dadi clicked her tongue, glaring as if he’d failed a test.

Dadi looked at us coldly, satisfied. "You’ve enjoyed the Mehra family’s comforts for years. It’s good we’re not charging you. Here’s the agreement—not a paisa for you. Take the child and leave."

Her tone was icy, as if it was a favour. I stared at the document, the words blurring. Amma squeezed my hand in silent defiance. We would survive, as the ceiling fan whirred and Mumbai’s traffic roared outside.

She turned to Dad. "Beta, do you have any objections?"

Dad said, "Whatever."

He didn’t even look at us, eyes fixed over Amma’s shoulder. The hurt was worse than any slap.

His gaze landed on the bite mark on Amma’s collarbone, eyes showing satisfaction. I remembered that spot—he’d bitten it himself. Hmph, scumbag. He bullies Amma and still admires his handiwork.

I glared at him, daring him to look at me. He didn’t. Priya’s lipstick paled, her smile faltered. For a moment, the room was silent—just the fridge’s hum and the relentless Mumbai rain outside, ready to wash everything away.

Everyone was happy. Only Priya’s face turned pale.

She clutched her dupatta, glancing at Dad. The family gathered closer, already talking about the next puja and what neighbours might say. Amma and I stood together, backs straight. Even as we were pushed out, we held our heads high. After all, the storm outside was just beginning.