‘You youngsters assume that everything you see on the internet is the gospel truth,’ scoffed Toshi.

‘Who else can we ask, Badi Ma? The web has all the answers,’ teased Jai.

‘Hmm. That reminds me, there’s something I wanted to ask you, Arathi,’ said Toshi. ‘What is so wrong about sharing a table with Pakistanis?’

Jai squirmed, thinking about the uncomfortable scene that had transpired in Nabeel’s Kitchen. Arathi looked at her mother-in-law in disbelief.

‘What is right about it, Ma?’ she countered. ‘Have you forgotten all the wars we’ve had with them and all the times they’ve attacked our country? So many of our soldiers have died because of them.’

Toshi looked pained, as if someone had punched her in the gut. ‘Our soldiers dying. Their soldiers dying. All this hate. Where will it all end? Especially if we can’t even sit at the same table and talk anymore,’ she said sadly.

‘What is there to talk about with them, Ma? We have nothing in common with them—and never will,’ said Arathi.

‘Actually, beta,’ said Toshi gently, ‘I probably have more in common with people from Pakistan than say, with you. Many Pakistanis and north Indians share the same history: our language, cuisine, ancestry, poetry . . . ’

‘And I’m just this South Indian who will never understand that, right?’ interjected Arathi, with a brittle laugh.

‘That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is that we do have a lot in common with them. Our families have lived side by side for centuries.’

‘But do these Pakistanis feel the same way about their relations with Indians, Ma? That is the question you should be asking. Maybe you’re living in an idealistic bubble . . . ’

‘Should we carry on playing?’ asked Jai, keen as ever to avoid conflict of any sort.

Toshi nodded, distractedly.

‘It’s your turn, Badi Ma. You need to get yourself some more letters,’ said Jai, offering his grandmother the bag of alphabet tiles. ‘And Badi Ma, please don’t make a word on that one spot on the board because that is where my next word would fit. Really well.’

‘I will make a word wherever my letters fit, Jai,’ said Toshi loftily.

‘Argh! I had forgotten how competitive you are, Badi Ma,’ groaned Jai. ‘Anyway, I do have a backup word.’

‘I hope it’s a real word this time, Jai. I cannot “fy” any more of your strangely obscure words,’ said Arathi.

Jai grinned, relieved that the conversation had veered away from Pesky Girl and her Pakistani family. Besides, she was the last person he wanted to be reminded of.

Alphonso Season

There was very little conversation at Adeela’s dinner table. Adeela was still seething at her sister’s remarks. Predictably, Humaira had refused to apologize. Habib was looking rather frayed from trying to convince Humaira to take the high road and be the bigger person.

Inaya played with the peas on her plate, pretending they were balls, batting them away with her knife. One such pea, which had been struck rather well, neatly bounced off Adeela’s cheek.