The morning of my birthday, Mummy and I went to temple. The exquisitely carved sandalwood statue of baby Krishna was my favorite. His clothes were made out of turmeric-colored silk, and a peacock feather adorned his gold crown. I’d made a garland out of jaswanti flowers, and I handed it to the priest to put around Krishna’s neck.

In the evening Foi and her husband, my fua, joined us for dinner. For a birthday present, they gave me a gold-filled Parker pen set. The case was lined with red velvet. Both the pen and the case were so beautiful that I decided I’d forever keep them together. Nimita gave me wine-colored bracelets with sparkly white stones, and I slipped them on right away. They were from her and Girishji.

“Close your eyes,” Mohini said.

She put something around my neck and fastened it in the back. When I looked in the mirror I saw the white-and-blue bead necklace that I’d admired a few months ago.

“It looks nice on you,” Mohini said. Her voice trembled. I realized that this was the first time she and Nimita had not given me a gift together. I kissed her cheek.

“What do you think I bought you this year?” Pappa asked.

“A pair of earrings?”

“No.”

“A necklace?”

“No.”

“A pendant?”

“Yes, what shape?”

“Don’t ask that; how should I know? A heart shape?”

“Yes. You got it right the first time.”

“Oh, Pappa!” was all I could say when I opened the package. The pendant was brushed gold with rays radiating from the center.

As soon as we walked into the Shree Café I could smell the sour tamarind-flavored lentil and vegetable sambhar. I ordered idlis. The fluffy, white idlis were served steaming hot with fresh coconut chutney and sambhar.

Fua ordered his food but we didn’t know what he said, because he talked to the waiter in Kannada. Since Fua had grown up in Mysore, he was fluent in Kannada and whenever he got a chance to speak it, which wasn’t very often, he did. I asked him what he asked for, and we were all shocked when he said he’d ordered a hundred-centimeter dhosa.

“That’s almost as big as Vivek is!” Chiraj said. “I wonder how they make it.”

I wanted to say, Why are you so interested? You’re a boy and you think you don’t belong in the kitchen. But Chiraj’s dark brown eyes were wide with wonder and sparkled with admiration. Once he sees men cooking he might think differently, I thought.

“I want to see how they make it. Let’s ask the waiter if we can watch the cook,” I said.

“Bess chani-mani, sit and be quiet,” Mummy said. “You don’t help me in our kitchen and now you want to run to the restaurant’s kitchen?”