“Why, son? You shouldn’t waste your money,” she says, wiping her tears.

“She’s right. They’ll be dead within days,” Mansoor says, feeling slighted. Not only did he say hello to his mother first, but his son did not bring him a gift. He never does.

Ashif reaches a hand out to his father. “Hi, Pappa.”

“Good to see you, son!” Mansoor shakes his son’s hand heartily. “Come in. Come in. Let’s go to my office, catch up before lunch.”

“But the food!” Layla protests. “It will get cold.”

“You can rewarm it, Layla. I have things to talk to my son about.” Mansoor reaches for his son’s arm.

“Let’s eat first, Pappa. I’m really hungry,” Ashif says, though he’d had breakfast on his flight.

Layla is elated. She hooks her arm in her son’s and leads him inside.

Mansoor feels a flicker of anger. His son needs to show him more respect! But he doesn’t say anything. He’s bigger than that. “Yes, yes. Let’s eat,” he says and follows them in.

“So, what is your meeting about, son?” Mansoor asks, his elbows planted on the dining table as he mixes a plateful of chicken biryani with the fingers of one hand.

“The company’s restructuring,” Ashif says, dipping a piece of dhokra into the date-tamarind chutney.

“Downsizing?” Mansoor leans over his plate and stuffs a fistful of rice into his mouth.

“Yup.” Ashif glances at the TV in the living room, which is turned to the news, but set to mute. The image behind the anchorman shows a sheep with a nameplate that reads DOLLY around its neck. The headline above reads WILL THERE EVER BE ANOTHER YOU?

“Part of the sales force is being automated,” he adds.

“It’s a brave new world, son! The digital revolution.” He taps the copy of his business plan that’s tucked under his thigh, readying himself to share his news.

“They’re laying off about twenty percent globally. Over the next six months.”

Mansoor raises his eyebrows. “Got to run a tight ship. Get rid of slackers.”

Layla puts one rotli on Mansoor’s plate, then the other on Ashif’s, before adding the rest to a stack in the middle of the table.

“Efficiency is the name of the game.” Mansoor picks up the piece of chicken and pops it into his mouth. “And it’s technology that will lead the way.”

“Come on, sit with us,” Ashif implores Layla. He wants his mother to relax and join them instead of running around catering to them like she’s their waitress. He also doesn’t want to be alone with his father, especially now that the subject has switched from the weather and the news to business. Like a preacher at his pulpit, it’s always a one-way conversation.

“I’m coming, bheta,” Layla says. “You eat, eat.”

“Yes, eat, son. Don’t worry about your mother.” Mansoor folds his rotli and rips it into two.

“Come soon, Mummy,” Ashif says. He knows she’s fasting, but he wants her to join them anyway, instead of serving them like she’s the hired help.