Page 141 of Cakes for the Grump

“Metaphorically, obviously.” Kiren rolls her eyes. “What I mean is that I agree. Life is supposed to fork and adjust. That’s not a bad thing, but don’t take a wild U-turn without trying out options. Keep on the path to doing what you want in life—which is?” She looks at me expectedly. “What is it? Be honest. What do you want?”

Luke. I miss him like a lost limb. Thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.

That’s not what we are talking about, though. She means what do I want in terms of being a chef.

To create new pairings. To have someone smile and think my dish is unique. To have collaborators who work with me. To make a living obsessed with food.

All of that is good in theory. In reality, I crash back into that moment. The bathroom. Email. The competition when I wasn’t good enough. There was no consolation prize. It was all or nothing. The thought of doing it all again…only to keep failing…

“I have an interview,” I tell Kiren. “At that insurance place I mentioned. I’m sorry, but that’s what I’m focussed on right now. I have to be.”

“That’s okay. Noor and I meant what we said. We’re going to figure this out for you because finally you are relying on us, and we won’t let you down.”

That’s a lot of pressure for them. I hug Kiren. I don’t want them disappointed if what they are planning doesn’t work out, so I’ll have to give it my best shot and find happiness in this other way of mine.

The interview is on Monday.

When it arrives, I get the same call I’ve been receiving each morning from Mr. Sunny Panday. The same man who drove me from the airport to the hospital, and who took us home after Uncle got released from the hospital. The one “anonymously” paid to take me around wherever I need to go.

He asks if I need his services. I refuse them. He cheerily says he will call again tomorrow.

This morning though—I hesitate. Typically traffic is horrible in the city, and transit gets you places faster, but I want to spend as much time as possible going through my notes to study the topic of insurance. Something I know scarcely anything about.

Mr. Panday leaps at my pause. He is already telling me he will be downstairs shortly.

And that’s how I end up in the back of his car again.

“Thank you again,” he says when I buckle my seat up. “I am very glad to drive you again. It is very helpful for me.”

Yes. His daughter.

“If I don’t ride with you,” I ask, “does that mean you don’t get paid? I know your daughter is going to medical school and?—”

“No, no. I get paid either way, but I am happier when I can also do the work. Is the air-conditioning to your liking, madam?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Where am I taking you today?”

“Chembur. I have a job interview there, so I apologize if I’m not going to be good company on this drive. I’ll be studying my notes.”

“It’s alright. I wish you good luck.”

He takes me there, I go inside and do the interview, and then come back and climb into Mr. Panday’s car.

“How was it, madam?” he asks.

My body feels cool and distant, as if it belongs to someone else. “Not well. I’m afraid they were looking for more experience.”

“I’m sorry, madam. I’m sure you’ll get the next one.”

We drive in silence for a bit, and then I ask. “Luke is paying for this, isn’t he?”

Mr. Panday winces. “I’m sorry, madam. I don’t know my employer’s name. All I know is that he is very generous and must like you very much to hire me like this.” He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is this someone you are missing?”

Unbidden, a laugh barks out of me.

Am I missing him? It feels as if my body has dissociated and I’ve left all the real bits back there with him. Is it supposed to be this way?