I came back to the dining table. Out of guilt, I picked up a few bhindis and started wiping them with a cloth.

*Madrasi girl?'

*Ananya,' I said.

*Stay away from her. They brainwash, these people.'

*Mom, I like her. In fact, I love her.'

*See, I told you. They trap you,' my mother declared.

*Nobody has trapped me, mom,' I said as I thwacked a bhindi on the table. *She is a nice girl. She is smart, intelligent, good-looking. She has a good job. Why would she need to trap anyone?'

*They like North Indian men.'

*Why? What's so special about North Indian men?'

*North Indians are fairer. The Tamilians have a complex.'

A complexion, complex?' I chuckled.

*Yes, huge,' my mother said.

*Mom, she went to IIMA, she is one of the smartest girls in India. What are you talking about? And not that it matters, but you have seen her. She is fairer than me.'

*The fair ones are the most dangerous. Sridevi and Hema Malini.'

*Mom, stop comparing Ananya to Sridevi and Hema Malini,' I screamed and pushed the bhindi bowl on the table aside with my arm. The bowl pushed the knife, which in turn rammed against my mother's fingers. She winced in pain as drops of blood flooded her right index fingers.

*Mom, I am so sorry,' I said. *I am so sorry.'

*It's OK. Kill me. Kill me for this girl,' she wailed.

*Mom, I am not.....' A drop of blood fell on my Citibank form. Now would be the time to betray your mother, you idiot, I thought.

*I am going to write Delhi,' I said.

*What?'

*Nothing. Where are the band-aids? Don't worry, I will cook the bhindi. Give me the masala.'

I bandaged my mother and had her recline on the sofa. I switched on the TV. I tried to find a channel with a soap opera that didn't show children disrespecting their parents. I filled each bhindi with masala over the next hour.

*Do you know how to switch on the gas?' she screamed form the living room as I hunted for matches in the kitchen.

*I do. Don't worry.'

*I can show you Punjabi girls fair as milk,' she said, her volume louder than the TV. I ignored her as I checked the cupboard for a vessel. *Should we give a matrimonial ad? Verma aunty downstairs gave it; she got fifty responses even though her son is from donation college. You will get five hundred,' my mother said.

*Let it be, mom,' I said.

I ignited the stove and kept the pan over it. I poured cooking oil and opened the drawers to find cumin seeds. It was kept in the same place as when I left home for college over seven years ago.

*Actually, I have a girl in mind. You have seen Pammi aunty's daughter?'

*No. and I don't want to,' I said.

*Wait,' my mother said as a new wave of energy was unleashed within her. I heard her open the Godrej cupboard in her bedroom. She brought a wedding album to the kitchen. *Lower the flame, you'll burn it. And why haven't you switched on the exhaust?' she snatched the ladle from me and took control of the stove. She stirred the bhindi with vigour as she spoke again. *Open this album.

See the girl dancing in the baraat next to the horse. She is wearing a pink lehnga.'

*Mom,' I protested.

*Listen to me also sometimes. Didn't I meet Jayalalitha's family on your request?'

*What?'

*Nothing, see the picture.'

I opened the album. It was my second cousin Dinki's wedding to Deepu. The first five pages of the album were filled with face shots of the boy and girl in various kaleidoscopic combinations and enclosed by heart-filled frames. I flipped through the album and came to the pictures with the horse.

I saw a girl in pink lehnga, her face barely visible under a lot of hair. She was in the middle of a dance step with her hands held high and index fingers pointing up.

*Isn't she pretty?' My mother switched on the other gas stove and put a tawa on it to make rotis. She took out a rolling pin and dough.

*I can't make out,' I said.

*You should meet her. And here, keep stirring the bhindi while I make the rotis,' She handed me the ladle.

*I don't want to meet anyone.'

*Only once.'

*What's so special about her?'

*They have six petrol pumps.'

*What?'

*Her father. He has six petrol pumps. And the best part is, they have only two daughters. So each son-in-law will get three, just imagine.'

*What?' I said as I imagined myself sitting in a gas station.

*Yes, they are very rich. Petrol pumps sell in cash. Lots of black money.'

*And what does the girl do? Is she educated?'

*She is doing something. These days you can do graduation by correspondence also.'

*Oh, so she is not even going to college?'

*College degrees you can get easily. They are quite rich.'

*Mom, that's not the point. I can't believe you are going to marry me to a twelfth pass....oh, forget it. Put this album away. And are the rotis done? I am hungry.'

*We can get an educated Punjabi girl.'

*No, I don't like any Punjabi girl.'

*Your mother is a Punjabi,' my mother said in an upset tone.

*That's not the point, mom,' I said and opened the fridge to take out curd. *I don't want any other girl. I have a girlfriend.'

*You'll marry that Madrasi girl?' my mother asked, seriously shocked for the first time since she found out about Ananya.

*I want to. In time, of course.'

My mother slapped a roti on the tawa and then slapped her forehead.

*Let's eat,' I said, ignoring her demonstrations of disappointment. We placed the food on the living-room coffee table and sat down in front of the TV.

The doorbell rang twice.

*Oh no, it's your father,' my mother said. *Switch off the TV.'

*It's OK,' I said.

My mother gave me a stern glance. I reluctantly shut the television. My mother opened the door. My father came inside and looked at me. I turned away and came back to the table.

*Lunch?' my mother asked.

My father did not answer. He came to the dining table and examined the food.

*You call this food?' he said.

I glared at him. *It took mom three hours to make it,' I said.

My mother took out a plate for him.

*I don't want to eat this,' my father said.

*Why don't you say you've already eaten and come?' I butted in again.

My father stared at me and turned to my mother. *This is the result of your upbringing. All the degrees can go to the dustbin. You only have this at the end.'

This, and a job at Citibank that pays me three times at the start than what you ever earned in your life, I wanted to say but didn't. I pulled the Citibank form close to me.

My father went and touched the TV top. *It's hot. Who watched TV?'

*I did. Any problem?' I said.

*I hope you leave home soon,' my father said.

I hope you leave this world soon, I responded mentally as I took my plate and left the room.

I lay down in bed at night, waiting to fall asleep. My mind oscillated between wonderful thoughts of Ananya's hair as they brushed against my face when we slept in campus and the argument with my father this afternoon. My mother came to my room and switched on the light.

*I've fixed the meeting. We'll go to Pammi aunty's place day after tomorrow.'

*Mom, I don't.....'

*Don't worry, I've told them we are coming for tea. Let me show you off a little.

You wait and see, they will ask me first.'

*I am not interested,' I sat up on my bed.

*Come for the snacks. They are very rich. Even for ordinary guests they give dry fruits.'

*Mom, why should I come, really?'

*Because it will make me happy. Is that reason enough?' she said and I noticed her wrinkled hand with the bandage.

*OK,' I shrugged and slid back into bed. *Now let me sleep.'

*Excellent,' she said and switched off the lights as she left the room. I allowed my mind to be trapped again by thoughts of my South Indian girl.

13.

Pammi aunty lived in Pitampura, a hardcore Punjabi neighbourhood. Each lane in this area has more marble than the Taj Mahal. Every street smells of tomatoes cooking with paneer. We took an auto as my father never allowed us to take the car. My mother told the auto driver to stop a few houses away. We couldn't tell Pammi aunty we hadn't come by car.