‘Er . . . ’ said Inaya, frantically scrambling for something to say.

‘It was just a rushed lunch that we had the other day,’ said Habib, gallantly coming to her rescue.

‘Yes, it was so rushed that we had to share a table with those annoying people,’ added Inaya.

Habib desperately signalled with his eyes at Inaya to simply stop talking. But it was too late. By now, Humaira was intrigued as well.

‘How come I don’t know about this wonderful lunch that you had, Habib?’ she asked with a plastic smile. ‘And who are these people that you lunched with?’

‘It wasn’t anyone you know, Daadi—just some random people from India who had also arrived in London the same day as us,’ said Inaya.

Habib groaned inwardly, bracing himself for the inquisition that was sure to follow.

‘One moment, one moment,’ interjected Adeela, sounding peeved. ‘Bhaijaan, you told me that you had an upset tummy—and then you went and ate at Nabeel’s Kitchen? After I slaved the entire morning preparing those kale and courgette patties for you!’

Habib cringed at the thought of the almost unpalatable patty that he had been forced into trying on his return to Adeela’s apartment.

‘It wasn’t planned,’ he said. ‘We were just walking past the café . . . ’

Humaira and Adeela harrumphed in unison.

‘Of all the people in London, could you only find Indians to share a table with, Habib?’ sneered Humaira.

‘Oh, come on, Humaira . . . ’ began Habib.

‘On this front, I’m with Bhaijaan,’ cut in Adeela. ‘You can’t generalize about people based on where they live.’

‘Naturally you would say that, Adeela, now that you consider yourself “British” and have abandoned all your pride in being Pakistani,’ Humaira shot back.

‘Can we please just enjoy the walk and not start that again?’ sighed Habib.

The foursome walked in silence for a bit.

‘We’ve reached your practice grounds, Inaya,’ announced Adeela abruptly. ‘Enjoy yourself. All you have to contend with is some balls hurtling at you. At least you don’t have anyone tearing you down.’

Humaira chose to ignore this oblique gibe. ‘Go and play your best, my kishmish,’ she said.

Inaya gave them a quick hug and scooted off. She needed to put all these squabbles aside and focus. The tape-ball league tournament’s first match was tomorrow. It was a knockout round, so if her team didn’t perform, that would be the end of the road for them.

Too Much to Digest

Back in Arathi’s cosy apartment, Toshi, Arathi and Jai were playing Scrabble. Jai picked up the letter ‘Y’ and placed it on the board, completing his word.

‘Oh, come on, Jai. There is no such word as Fy!’ said Arathi, turning to her mother-in-law to back her up.

‘This is pure and simple cheating,’ declared Toshi emphatically, taking Arathi’s side.

‘You always say I’m cheating when you’re losing, Badi Ma! And by the way, it is a valid Scrabble word,’ said Jai. ‘It means “to digest”. Look here if you don’t believe me.’ He held Arathi’s iPad aloft triumphantly.