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“Later,” he said roughly.
A smile lit her up from inside. “Later,” she agreed.
Together, they finally left the room to join their family downstairs. Raashi’s family were gathered around the dining table along with Harsh’s, his father presiding at the head of the table. Veda patted the seat beside her and Raashi went to sit there, leaving Harsh with the joy of sitting between his father and elder brother.
Breakfast that morning was an elaborate affair, piping hot dosas and fluffy idlis arriving in a consistent parade from the kitchen. Huge bowls of sambar and chutney dotted the massive table, and he watched everyone serve themselves, chatter exploding in little pockets around the table.
Harsh stared at the thin film of oil floating on the chutney and held a hand up to stop a helper from serving him some.
“The food is not good enough for you?” his father asked, his voice a low, annoyed grunt as he shoved a large chunk of his dosa into his mouth.
Harsh didn’t bother answering him. This was an age-old debate and one his father had no intention of being open minded about. Vijaya Akka, who’d worked with their family for years, came in with his protein shake. He took it from her with a grateful nod and took a swig before his father could make any more snide remarks.
“What’s in it?” Ram asked from across the table, nodding towards Harsh’s drink.
“Kale-“
Harsh never got to finish the sentence before his father snorted again. He could see Raashi tilt her head in this direction, clearly listening in while pretending to be a part of a conversation with her sister and his mother.
“Nanna,” Agastya’s murmur had no effect. Like always.
“In our time, we ate and drank like normal people and led healthy, active lifestyles. We didn’t have all these stupid ideas. Who has something to drink for breakfast? Nobody else no at this table? Because we are normal people.”
Harsh’s hand tightened around his glass. Not today, he reminded himself. Raashi’s family was there and he was going to behave himself. He was going to try and behave like a Kodela was expected to.
“Nobody else at this table is as fit as Harsh is,” Raashi said mildly. Yep, she was definitely listening and she wasn’t looking to behave, from the looks of it. Harsh smiled, a small smile that she returned.
“That he has.” His father crunched on his dosa, not having any qualms about eating with his mouth full. “Muscles. Lots of muscles. Drinks green rubbish and spends hours in the gym. If only he exercised the muscles of his brain, no?”
Nanna laughed uproariously at his own joke, not seeming to care that no one at the table was sharing his merriment.
“The brain has no muscles.”
Harsh saw Veda put a hand on Raashi’s and squeeze, a silent plea. Raashi shook Veda’s hand off. Harsh shook his head at her. It wasn’t worth it. He should know. He’d given up after endless years of trying.
With a fiery glare that incinerated his silent warning, Raashi straightened in her chair, her eyes on his father.
“You know what I mean,” Nanna said dismissively.
“No, Mamagaru. I don’t know what you mean. Why don’t you explain it to me?” Raashi smiled sweetly even as the table lapsed into a tense silence.
Nanna dipped another piece of dosa into sambar making sure it soaked nicely. Harsh closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the trainwreck that was about to explode in their dining room.
“I know you don’t know him well, given the circumstances of your marriage.” The dosa went in and he chewed for a few moments.
Agastya exhaled. “Nanna please.”
“But,” he swallowed. “This one is not known for his brains. Luckily, he has that face and people like it, or he would have literally been fit for nothing. Didn’t even manage to get a degree.” The last was said with a snort that almost sent his dosa flying off his plate.
“And yet, he wasn’t the one at the table who didn’t know that the brain had no muscles.”
Harsh’s eyes snapped open. The next morsel of dosa was suspended in mid-air as his father gaped at his new daughter in law. He flushed a deep, dangerous red as he dropped the dosa back on his plate and glowered at her. The same glower that had cowed his three children for years. Raashi glowered right back.
“Your son was paid forty-five crores for the last movie he did, according to media reports. I am guessing the figure is actually higher. He shot for that for a period of seven months. Forty-five crores for seven months. Can someone at this table who earns more than that, please put their hand up? Anyone?”
“No?” she asked mockingly, looking around at everyone sitting like statues. “Nobody then?”
“We are in public service,” his father roared.
