Page 4

I smiled at Imran’s back as my gaze darted to the papers beside me. The owner of SB Real Estate, Ms. Bhatia, had graciously granted me a meeting the next day, but she wanted to meet over a quick drink before we discussed the lease. My guess was she wanted to size me up to determine her negotiating options. It was a great tactic and a good opportunity for me to figure out how much pushback I could safely get away with. The new lease document in my hand quoted three times the rent I’d been paying for the past several years. That was a lot of money, even for a successful company like mine.
I’d thought of doing a quick Google search about SB Real Estate and its owner, but I didn’t want online information to color my judgment or my impression of her. My instinct was usually pretty vocal and always yammering on, unlike me.
Unfortunately, it had been deceptively silent about Tara. And there I was again, all set to go down that rabbit hole. Luckily, my mother called.
“Kanna!” she cried in her sweet voice like she always did. My mother was quadrilingual, and the Kanna was on account of her proficiency in Tamil.
“Hello, Amma,” I said with a smile, momentarily drowning out Imran’s impatience.
“How are you? Did you like the rava laddoo I sent with Padma?”
“Yes, Amma, I loved it.”
“I wanted to send the punugulu, but Padma said they won’t travel well.”
“She’s right, Amma. They would have gotten all soggy and soft.”
“But you have that fryer gadget, no? You could reheat it to crisp it up,” she argued, and I laughed at her reference to the air fryer that she’d insisted on buying for my kitchen.
“Yes, Amma, but what’s the fun in eating reheated punugulu?” The lentil fritters, like all fritters, were best when eaten hot right out of the fryer.
“I could never out-argue you,” she said with a huff.
“I’ll plan to come over soon. Then you can feed me all the punugulu you want. Also, bobbatlu. It’s been a while since I had that.”
The thought of the sweet stuffed flatbread flooded me with memories of a very happy childhood. As the younger of two kids, I was definitely spoiled.
“Anything you want, Kanna. Just let me know when you plan to come.”
“I will, but can you stop bothering Padma with errands like this? The poor girl spends more time bringing me food from you than she does in her studio.” I was exaggerating, of course, and Amma dismissed it promptly.
“It’s not a bother to bring food to a brother! She knows it,” Amma said in her usual chiding manner whenever I tried to create distance between families and relatives.
Padmaja was my cousin. A budding sculptor, she was Amma’s sister’s daughter, but there was no concept of cousinsin our family. It was all sisters and brothers and uncles and aunts. Padma frequently traveled to the posh suburban hamlet where her parents and mine resided. And Amma never failed to send back some delicacy or the other with her for me. Then I had to arrange for Imran to get it from her so she wouldn’t have to travel all the way from Brooklyn to Manhattan to deliver me homemade food. Of course, Padma didn’t mind. She kind of expected Amma to do that. If she didn’t, she would assume that either Amma was sick, or that I was. And even though she was a few years younger than me, she was the older child, and like everyone else in my extended family, she fussed over me.
“That reminds me,” Amma’s voice in my ear brought me back just as Imran banged his hand on the steering wheel in frustration and boredom. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror, and he grinned sheepishly.
“Yes, I remember,” I said to Amma. “I remember about Padma’s exhibition. You’ve only reminded me nine hundred times,” I teased.
“Indeed, Kanna, because I know how diligent you are about these things. If it wasn’t for Devi, you’d never remember any of the important social events,” she chided.
“That’s not her job, Amma. She’s my professional assistant, not a personal one. I know she’s like family, but don’t bother her with this stuff.”
“She doesn’t mind. Plus, it was Cathy’s idea. She suggested I use Devi’s proximity to you to our advantage. Or something like that.”
I smiled. That definitely sounded like my sister-in-law. She and Devi had been tight since undergrad. After Devi joined the workforce, Cathy went to business school, where she met my brother. Since Tara, everyone in my family had been treating me with kid gloves, especially the women. That included Devi, whotraversed that boundary between personal and professional with impeccable ease.
“Here’s Nannagaaru now,” Amma said, handing the phone off to Dad.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, often forgetting that Amma preferred us to call him Nanna. But Dad was our first friend, mine, and my brother, Srijan’s.
“How are you? I know you’re probably busy, but I just wanted to say hi,” he said, always consciously aware of our time and commitments.
“Doing well, Dad. How’s your new book coming along?” I asked.
“Slowly,” he said with a chuckle that was the best sound in the world.
“Wish I could help, but you know my understanding of math is elementary compared to yours.”