*Nobody important. She wanted to meet you after I told her how much trouble you took to bring me up because of dad,' I lied.

Maybe it was the extra butter or my words. My mother calmed down. *You told her everything?' she asked.

*No, only a little. Also, her parents may be a bit formal. That's why I spoke about making a good impression. Otherwise, who wouldn't love to meet you?'

*What do Gujaratis eat for dessert? Or do they put all the sugar in their food?

My mother picked up the menu again.

10.

The next morning, two hundred fresh MBA graduates and their insanely proud parents sat in the Louis Kahn Plaza lawns for the convocation. The cief guest, a third generation silver-spoon-at-birth industrialist, told students to work hard and come to the top. He also had the tough job of handling out degrees and posing for pictures with two hundred students. Today, we had to collect our post- graduate diploma in management, a ticket to a lifetime of overpaid jobs. Ananya wanted everything to be perfect. She had reached the venue half an hour earlier to secure six seats for her family and mine.

My mother wore her best sari. I wore graduation robes rented for thirty bucks.

*Mom, this is Ananya. Ananya, my mother,' I said when we reached the premises.

Ananya extended her arm to shake my mother's hand. My mother looked shocked. While Ananya touching her feet would be too much, I felt Ananya should have stuck to a Namaste. Anything modern doesn't go down well with parents.

*Hello, aunty. I have heard so much about you,' Ananya said.

*Actually, since I have arrived I am only hearing about you.' My mother smiled, making it difficult to spot the sarcasm.

*Let's sit down. Ananya, where is your family?' I asked as we sat down.

*My mother takes forever to put on her sari. I came first to get good seats.'

Ananya wore the same peacock blue sari that she wore to her HLL interview.

She caught me staring and blew a kiss. Fortunately, my mother didn't notice. I shook my head, beseeching Ananya to maintain decorum.

Ananya's parents arrived ten minutes later. Her father wore a crisp white shirt, like the one in detergent ads. Ananya's mother walked behind in a glittery haze.

Her magenta and gold Kanjeevaram sari could be noticed from any corner of the lawn. She looked as if she had fallen into a drum of golden paint. Behind her walked a fourteen-year-old boy with spectacles; a miniature version of MBA men who would get a degree this evening.

*Hello mom,' Ananya said and stood up, her voice her cheerful best.

*Safety pin illa something something,' her mother replied. Mother and daughter lapsed into Tamil. Ananya's father took out his camera and started taking random pictures of everything around us a the lawns, the stage, the chairs, the mikes. Little brother didn't have much to do but looked uncomfortable in his new button-down collar shirt. My mother heard them talk and her mouth fell open.

I whispered, *Get up. Let us introduce ourselves.'

*They are Madrasi?' my mother asked, shocked.

*Shsh, Tamilian,' I said.

*Tamilian?' my mother echoed even as Ananya continued the introductions.

*Mom, this is Krish, and this is Krish's mother.'

"Hello,' Ananya's mother said, looking just as stunned as my mother.

*Isn't this cool? Our families meeting for the first time,' Ananya cooed even as everyone ignored her.

*Krish's father has not come?' Ananya's father asked.

*He is not well,' my mother said, her voice butter-soft. *He is a heart patient.

Advised not to travel.'

My mother faked it so well, even I felt like sympathizing with her.

Ananya's parents gave understanding nods. They whispered to each other in Tamil as they took their places.

*I better go, I'm one of the first ones.' Ananya giggled and ran up to join the line of students.

I sat sandwiched between my mother on one side and Ananya's mother on the other.

*You want to sit next to Ananya's mother?' I asked my mother.

*Why? Who are these people?' she frowned.

*Don't panic, mom. I said it because I have to join that line soon.'

*Then go. I have come to see you, not sit next to Madrasis. Now let me watch,'

she said.

The chief guest started the diploma distribution. The audience broke into continuous applause for the initial students. Then they got tired and went back to fanning themselves with the convocation brochures.

*Get to know them. We'll probably go for lunch together,' I said.

*You go for lunch with them. I can eat alone,' my mother said.

*Mom....' I said as the announcer read out Ananya's name.

Ananya walked on the stage, probably the only student whose picture was worth taking. I stood up and applauded.

My mother gave me a dirty look. *Sit. Even her parents are not standing.'

Maybe they don't love her like I do, I wanted to say but didn't. I sat down.

Ananya's parents clapped gently, craning their necs to get a better view.

Ananya's mother looked at me with suspicion. I realized that I hadn't yet spoken to her. Start a conversation, you idiot, I thought.

*Your daughter is such a star. You must be so proud,' I said.

*We are used to it. She always did well in school,' Ananya's mother replied.

I tried her father. *How long are you here for, uncle?'

Uncle looked up and down at me as if I had questioned him about his secret personal fantasies.

*We leave day after. Why?' he said.

Some whys have no answer, apart from the fact that I was trying to make small talk. *Nothing, Ananya and I were wondering if you wanted to see the city. We can share a car,' I said.

Ananya's mother sat between us and listened to every word. She spoke to her husband in Tamil. *Something something Gandhi Ashram something recommend something.'

*Gandhi Ashram is nice. My mother also wants to see it.' I said.

*What?' my mother said from her seat. *Don't you have to go on stage, Krish?

Your turn is coming.'

*Yes,' I said and stood up. Gandhi Ashram would be a good start for the families. He stood for peace and national integration, maybe that could inspire us all.

*Then go,' my mother said.

*Wait,' I said and bent to touch her feet.

*Thank god, you remembered. I thought you were going to touch Ananya's mother's feet,' she said.

My mother said it loud enough for Ananya's mother to hear. They exchanged cold glances that could be set to the backdrop of AK-47 bullets being fired.

Surely, it would take a Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi to make them get along.

*Mom, control,' I whispered to her as I turned to leave.

*I am under control. These South Indians don't know how to control their daughters. From Hema Malini to Sridevi, all of them trying to catch Punjabi men.'

My mother had spoken so loud that the entire row heard her. For a few moments, people's attention shifted from the convocation ceremony to us.

Ananya's mother elbowed her husband. They stood up, pulled up Ananya's scrawny brother between them and found some empty seats five rows away.

*Mom, what are you doing?' I struggled to balance the graduation cap on my head.

*Kanyashree Banerjee,' the announcer said over the mike and I realised I was horribly late. I had missed my last convocation as I had overslept. I didn't want to miss it this time.

*What have I said? It's a fact,' my mom said, talking to me but addressing everyone who had tuned into our conversation that beat the boring degree distribution hollow any day.

*Krish....' I heard my name and ran up. The five Mohits were waiting near the stage. I smiled at them as I climbed the steps to the stage. The chief guest gave me my diploma.

My mother was standing and clapping. *I love you,' she screamed. I smiled back at her. For the last ten years my father had told her that her son would get nowhere in life. I held up my diploma high and looked up to thank God.

*Move, the next student has to come,' the announcer said as I emotionally thanked the chief guest again and again. As I walked down the steps, I saw Ananya's parents. They had not applauded or even reacted to my being on the stage. I came back towards my seat. Ananya stood at our row's entrance, looking lost. *I stayed back to get some pictures with friends. Where are my parents?'

*Five rows behind,' I said.

*Why? What happened?'

*Nothing. They wanted a better view,' I said.

*I've booked the car. We are all going afterwards, right?'

*Go to your parents, Ananya,' I said firmly as I saw my mother staring at me.

11.

*We've already paid for the taxi,' I said. *So, you can pretend to get along. See it as a budget exercise.'

My mother and I walked towards the taxi stand outside campus. She had no inclination to see where MR Gandhi lived. The Sabarmati Ashram, on the outskirts of the city, was a key tourist attraction. Ananya had got lunch packed in little packets from Topaz. According to her, it would be a Kodak moment to picnic somewhere by the Sabarmati river. Of course, she had no idea about her missed Kodak moment when my mother had made insightful comments about certain South Indian actresses.

*We had booked a Qualis,' I told the driver who stood next to an Indica. Ananya and her family were already at the taxi stand. Her mother looked like she had just finished a grumble session, maybe her natural expression.

*The Qualis is on election duty. We only have this.' The driver crushed tobacco in his palm.

*How can we all fit in?' I wondered.

*We take double the passengers, squeeze in,' the driver said.

*Let's take an auto,' I said.

*I'm not taking an auto,' my mother said as she slid into the backseat.