Of all the times I’ve seen Sid and his mother together, this has to be the strangest interaction by far. It’s almost as if there’s some sort of undercurrent here that I don’t understand.

‘I also have my best interests at heart, Ma. Didn’t you have somewhere to go today?’ Sid says and looks pointedly at Dragon.

‘I thought—I thought I’ll go another day,’ Dragon says.

She looks into her tea cup, she looks at the biscuits—she looks everywhere but at her son.

‘I think today is the best day for it really,’ Sid says. ‘I can call for a taxi for you.’

‘Normally you would have dropped me off—’ Dragon starts to say.

‘I want to be with Polly, Ma. You’ll need to go in a cab,’ Sid says with finality.

I cannot believe my ears! Sid has just said he wants to be with me and he has actually asked his mother to find something else to do. I quickly sip my tea to prevent myself from smiling like a fool.

Suddenly Dragon gets up from the chair and starts placing all the tea cups on the tray. I have not finished my tea but I don’t say anything and let her take my cup.

‘But I wanted to spend time with you—and Polly as well,’ Dragon says. ‘You’ve hardly been home, I’ve hardly seen you and I thought today was a good evening to sit and—’

‘Please don’t make this difficult Ma. There’s no other way for me to put this politely. I need to be with Polly. Alone. No, staying in your bedroom is not an option. We’ve discussed this before,’ Sid says and he doesn’t look happy about it.

I realize suddenly that Dragon probably has been crying because of their ‘discussion’. Given how Sid’s behaving with her, I am pretty sure he’s asked her to go back home.

Dragon wasn’t happy about being made to leave and refused to even say good-bye as the taxi drove off with her.

I’ve been standing here in the kitchen for the last ten minutes now, without a clue as to what I’m going to cook for dinner. I quite like cooking but I hate the planning bit and would be very happy to pay someone to decide the daily menu for me.

Ragini’s betrayal and Bride’s offer—I am just not comfortable calling her Trishala—have also been playing around in my head making it even more difficult choosing between brinjal-potato or tomato-potato. Those are the only vegetables I have in the fridge.

‘Are you busy?’ Sid asks, standing at the kitchen door.

‘Just trying to decide dinner,’ I respond, noticing he is wearing jeans and a polo shirt with shoes.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sid says. ‘Why don’t we order some tandoori chicken instead? If you feel like eating it?’