I flushed. I didn’t want them to dissect my eating choices at the table. If it were up to me, no one would notice what I ate or did and one day, I’d be magically thin and everyone would forget what I’d been like before. Ma and Papa had resigned themselves to my changed persona and eating habits because I had been careful about not overdoing anything. They just thought I had turned into a health freak.

‘Let her be,’ Aunty V said suddenly, and ordered a meatball pasta for herself. I hadn’t expected support from Aunty V, but people surprise one all the time.

Ma, of course, stumped everyone with her order. She wanted everything on the dessert menu.

‘But . . .’ Papa looked at her in horror.

She shook her head firmly. ‘Everything. And no one gets to taste anything from my plate. Get your own dessert.’

Papa looked at Aunty V for help but she shrugged. ‘You did this, Shekhar,’ she said, gravely. ‘Now bear the consequences.’ She burst out laughing and so did Ma, although Ma looked a little embarrassed.

‘I can’t bring myself to eat anything here,’ she tried to explain. ‘I only want desserts.’

‘Fine, we’ll get Aunty Chitra her desserts,’ Raghu said, hailing the waiter.

‘Someone take her photo when she’s eating all these desserts so we can rib her about it later,’ said Aunty V, with a grin.

For some reason, the thought of a photo sobered me up. It made me think of people who were no longer with us and although no one close to me had died, I was suddenly terrified of Ma dying.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No photos.’

I didn’t explain although everyone looked at me strangely.

15

For the next couple of days, we settled into a strange sort of routine. I didn’t know if I liked it or hated it. With Aunty V, the house had been boisterous and fun but with Raghu, the house seemed fuller and louder. I would go to college with great reluctance because my thoughts were centred at home.

When I left for college the next morning, Ma and Raghu were watching a movie on Netflix. At 7.30 a.m. And Ma was eating some sort of pancake thingy that Raghu had made for her. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

‘Want some?’ he asked.

I looked at him—loose green shorts, a threadbare light pink vest that had seen better days, his sleep-tousled hair, and a light stubble on his face—and I shook my head.

‘No, thanks,’ I said tightly.

I glanced at Ma, who was digging into those Nutella covered pancakes like there was an impending apocalypse, and I thought about the apocalypse growing inside her.