Chapter 4: Money, Blood, and Bhujia

My brow twitched. Ten lakhs—Meera said it as casually as if it were a hundred rupees.

I clenched my teeth.

“Why didn’t you discuss it with me first?”

Meera shot up from the sofa like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“It’s just ten lakhs! Isn’t my brother your brother too? My nephew’s about to start Class 6—without a flat in the right school zone, how can he study in peace? How will he get into a good school?

If he doesn’t get into a good school, how will he get into a good college? He’s the only male heir of our family. Don’t be so selfish, okay?”

My head buzzed.

This wasn’t the first time. Every time, it was the same excuse: her brother is the only son, she hates being just a daughter and unable to show filial piety, so she uses money to make up for it.

Her nephew is the family’s only heir, and since she can’t count on Ananya, she’ll have to rely on her nephew in old age.

I’d heard it all before, and every time I couldn’t bring myself to argue with her.

But what made me angrier was the barrage:

[Villain is supposed to be a big boss, but other CEOs give their wives crores, and he’s making a fuss over a measly ten lakhs? No wonder he died so early.]

[His job is to support the heroine and her mom, but he really thinks he’s something, daring to give our heroine’s mom a hard time.]

They say it so lightly. For me, whether it’s a hundred rupees or ten lakhs, it’s all hard-earned. I work overtime, drink endless chai for business meetings, all for Meera and my daughter. I can’t even bear to buy myself a decent pair of shoes.

But with one wave of Meera’s hand, I lose more than one expensive suit.

And yet, they always take my efforts for granted.

Sometimes I’d think, if this was a Hindi film, I’d be the villain in a cheap suit, scowling, while everyone else danced around me. But real life isn’t a movie. My hands are always stained with ink from signing cheques, not from plotting against anyone.

My tone turned cold.

“The supplementary card in your hand is for your own expenses, for our daughter, and for this household—not for you to use as an ATM for your own family.”

Meera immediately looked like she was about to cry. She turned away, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her dupatta, but as I watched, I noticed her peeking at the TV. She wiped her eyes again, blaming the 'masala in the air.'

“You said you’d love me forever, what’s yours is mine. We haven’t been together that long and now you treat me like this?”

My blood pressure shot up. I never felt anything was wrong before—maybe I was really brainwashed by the plot. But now, it was clear everything was wrong.

Before I could say anything, Ananya came home, looking as if something great had happened, but her face fell as soon as she saw me.

She dropped her backpack on the floor with a thud, barely glancing at me before scanning Meera’s face for clues. One sniffle from her mother was enough to trigger a storm.

Seeing Meera’s red eyes, Ananya immediately questioned me:

“Did you bully my mum again? Rajeev, don’t go too far! If it weren’t for my mum, you’d still be a lonely old bachelor.”

I actually laughed from anger.

With Ananya standing up for her, Meera immediately got smug, pulled her over to chat, and didn’t forget to throw a jab at me:

“Only my daughter is good to me in this house. No one else is reliable. She really is my own.”

Meera stared at the detergent ad, refusing to meet my eyes, her fingers digging into the bhujia packet. Mother and daughter ganged up to isolate me, leaving me with nothing but desolation.