Chapter 7: Paneer, Parathas, and the Price of Love

Because I picked a cheap pair of shoes and patiently read picture books with my sister, Priya’s mother specially made a big plate of sweet and sour paneer as a reward for me.

The kitchen was a battleground of aromas—cumin sizzling, ghee melting, laughter bubbling over. Her little sister crawled onto my lap, drooling onto the book, and for once, I didn’t mind at all.

That night, for the first time, I ate according to my own preferences—taking whatever I wanted, eating as much as I liked—instead of eating at set times and portions as my mother required.

The food was hot, not from a microwave but straight from the tava. I took two helpings, fingers sticky, lips burning. It felt like a small rebellion against my past.

Those nutritious, slimming meals that accompanied my whole adolescence were perfect but cold. The grilled prawns flown in from Dubai didn’t have a trace of a mother’s warmth and were far inferior to the dishes Priya’s mother cooked with love.

Her hands, so used to kneading dough and wiping tears, flavoured every bite. Even the burnt edges tasted of comfort.

“Priya, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

Her voice was so soft, it almost broke me. I wiped my eyes, pretending it was the onions.

“No, it’s just… mum’s sweet and sour paneer is so delicious, I can’t bear to eat it.”

She laughed, shaking her head, ‘Pagal ladki’, and ruffled my hair. Her bangles jingled, a sound that felt like home.

“Silly girl, if you like it, eat more! Mum will make it for you again tomorrow.”

She scooped more paneer onto my plate, not even glancing at her own. In that moment, I wanted to press her hand, say thank you a hundred times, but the words got stuck.

As she spoke, she pushed all the sweet and sour paneer from the plate into my bowl, not leaving any for herself.

My eyes stung a little. The bones and emotions inside me that had been broken for so long suddenly began to heal, bit by bit. So this is what it feels like to be loved by a mother…

I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, hoping no one noticed. This warmth, I promised myself, I would never let go.

Like a spring breeze, like warm sun in winter.

Even the cheap fairy lights on the wall seemed to glow brighter, blessing me in their own quiet way.

But just as I thought I could slowly climb out of hell in this warm family, Priya’s mother had a huge fight with her husband because of me.

The flat’s thin walls did nothing to hide the storm. I curled up on the mattress, clutching my sister’s teddy bear, dreading what would come next.