Page 249 of A King's Oath

“It’s… like somebody who thinks about life and universe and writes long books.”

“Like a writer?”

“Yes, like that.”

“And your brother?”

“He is… in college. Studying.”

“In like, which standard?”

“He is in… umm, 12th standard.”

Her mouth opened in another oval O. This would be his favouritest expression of hers.

“So big?” She gasped.

“Yes. Very big.”

“So if I meet them what will I call them? I call Nanaji and Naniji already so I can’t call them that. Grandpère and Grandmère?”

“You can call them that. Or you can call them what I called my grandparents.”

“What?”

“Dada Sarkar and Dadi Sarkar. And Sharan, my brother… Umm, Sharan Kaka, if he allows.”

She giggled.

“Do you have their photos?”

“I do,” he reached for his phone and pulled out the few snaps in his album. He wasn’t one to use it much, except to save portraits here and there from their family group. He pulled one from last Diwali, clicked in the Durbar Hall, with them dressed in their finery. It was an official portrait and he sat on the throne with them positioned around him. Samarth skipped that for a simpler one, one from his last polo match. He showed it to her.

“Your Papa looks just like you!” She gasped.

Samarth smirked. “Doesn’t he?”

“Old you.”

He snorted. He hoped she didn’t say it to his father.

“Oh my gawwwwd!” Ava came barrelling out of her bedroom. “You guys haven’t eaten yet?”

“We were waiting for you,” he took his phone back from Brahmi and stood to his feet. Ava frowned. Samarth walked to her chair at the head of the table and pulled it for her.

“Who made all this?” She sat down, immediately reaching for the food and plating it for Brahmi. “Eat quietly, no complaining,” she warned in advance. Samarth observed proudly how his daughter picked up a white dhokla and bit into it. Then sat down himself — “My chef sent it over.”

“I thought you would cook,” she reached for a bowl of masala sprouts. He snorted.

“Even after all these years I am hopeless at cooking.”

“And spotless in cleaning,” she glanced at her impeccable kitchen.

“I have my uses. You won’t ever have to complain about a dirty house.”

“Are you giving me a feature list?” She flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Don’t bother. I have tested it once and regretted.”

Samarth leaned in close, stilling her — “The model is 100% insult-proof now and comes with an inbuilt b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t metre…”

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