Page 31 of Made in Mumbai

“I did. It’s broken now.”

“Want me to have it serviced?”

“No thanks, My ex-husband tried and failed.”

That brought their conversation up short. But this time, it was he who picked up the slack and continued.

“I’m sorry.”

“He is divorced from me, not dead.”

“Still. How long were you married?”

“A few months.”

“That short?”

“It was an arranged-cum-love marriage. Or at least, that’s what I told myself then. We met up because our families wanted us to meet. I was 32, and of course the pressures were piling from everywhere. Most of my friends were married with babies, my relatives kept asking all the time. It was high time. And then we met, liked each other, dated in that ‘modern-arrange-marriage-dates’ way. Our castes, horoscopes, everything matched.”

“Evidently, not everything.”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “I realised we both wanted different things in life and we parted ways amicably.”

“Hmm. And your parents?”

“They didn’t like it. Still don’t. It’s been a month to my divorce and they are already trying to patch us up.”

“Do you want to?”

“No. Why would I take the pains to go through a divorce in the first place if I wanted to get back only a month later. I am not that fickle-minded.”

He gave her a look.

“That,” she stressed. “Thatfickle minded.”

He laughed, making her feel like she had conquered some massive mountain of Coorg.

“Your benne dosai, ma’am,” the waiter set her platter in front of her with a flourish. It looked yummy. And huge. His dosa was set in front of him, and without even an eye contact, they dug in. The sambhar was the perfect blend of sweet and sour, while the chutney was so fresh. She sneaked a glance at him, and he seemed to be enjoying his chutney, just not drinking it down this time.

“It’s like they plucked a coconut just now and made this!” She held a spoonful of her white coconut chutney in front of her mouth and drooled. Then quickly pulled her phone and snapped a photo of their table set with dosas, condiments and steaming coffees.

“What are you doing?”

“Posting. My rain selfie was a big hit today. What’s your Instagram handle? I’ll add you…”

He grumbled.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t have one.”

“Ok, I won’t.”

“You know, you have started to act human, humane and cute in just a matter of an hour with me. Please, don’t give me a heart attack by acting sweet in the next hour.”

“Ok, I won’t.”

“That’s it. I am making your Instagram account and posting things on your behalf now.”

“What? No.”

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