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VIKRAM
I watch her like a predator eyeing its prey, ready to engulf it in flames. Nine years ago, she was beautiful; now, she is incredible. Back then, her kohled eyes meeting my sharp stares ignited something burning inside me. Even now, nothing has changed. Except that I had imagined her to be more respectful and obedient, but tonight she was neither. Maahi is clearly unhappy that I’m back. But who cares?
The ring of my phone diverts my attention from Cub to the screen. It’s Mom. Damn. I can’t ignore her, so I answer.
“Mom?”
“Vikram, are you seriously in India?”
Nothing unnerves my mother more than knowing I’m here with Daadi. She thinks Daadi will brainwash me into staying forever.
“Yes, Mom. I left you a message before leaving.”
“I saw your message, Vikram. I tried to call, but your charter had already taken off. Why are you there?”
“Got some work.”
“Don’t give me that excuse, Vikram. I can sniff out your lies from miles away.”
“I’m serious, Mom. I’m here purely for work, and what’s the harm in spending some time with Daadi? I missed her.”
“You’re talking like your father now. You both think I’m keeping you away from her.”
This argument will never end, so I decide to wrap it up.
“How about I call you once my work is done and I plan to leave?” I ask.
She’s silent for a few seconds. “Alright.”
I can sense her nervousness. “Give my regards to Dad. Bye, Mom.”
I disconnect and head back to my room. I need some sleep. The jet lag and the wine are taking a toll.
***************
The melodic chime of ringing bells rouses me from slumber, a familiar sound that wraps me in a sense of home after years apart. I glance at the clock—7:00 a.m.—and smile, knowing nothing has changed. Daadi's routine remains unaltered: waking at 5:00, showering, reading holy books, and performing puja by 7:00. The thought of her chanting hymns, her radiant face as she circles the puja thali before the deity and offers prasad, fills me with warmth. I refuse to miss it today.
Tugging on a T-shirt, I head downstairs, only to freeze halfway at the sight of Maahi—the woman whose neck I kissed last night. The memory ignites a fire within me, a reaction I can't quite comprehend in her presence. She moves through the living room, chanting hymns and spreading fragrant holy smoke from a vessel, as if purifying the space. Staying with Daadi has clearly influenced her, shaping her into a traditional woman. Her bright pink anarkali dress conceals her figure entirely, a stark contrast to the women I'm accustomed to. I drink in the sight of her before proceeding to the temple.
Daadi is seated before the idol, engrossed in a holy book. As I step forward, Maahi's voice halts me. “You are not allowed in the temple,” she commands.
“Excuse me?” I retort, irritation rising.
“You haven't showered,” she points out.
“So? Daadi won't mind. And you mind your own business.”
Annoyance flashes across her face.
“No need to remind me that,” she snaps.
“Vikram? Maahi? What's the matter?” Daadi's gentle voice interrupts our exchange.
Maahi seizes the opportunity. “Daadi, he hasn't showered. How can he enter the temple?”
A smile graces Daadi's lips. “It's alright. He can come in.”
I smirk triumphantly at Maahi as I stride past her. Her frustration is palpable, and I know she sees Daadi's partiality.
