Eventually, the fear and anxiety subsided. She doted on me; I loved her for it.

The previous night, she had fought with me when I wanted to iron my shirt, insisting that I didn’t need to do it; she was quite capable.

‘Maa, I am grown now. I must do these things by myself,’ I told her with nothing but love in my eyes. She responded with a laugh, but pride filled her own eyes.

‘Tomorrow, Ashray, you must be yourself. Show them you are very capable of doing this job. You are listening?’ she said to me, full of advice as always.

‘Yes, Maa.’ I smiled at her, only showing her the confidence in me, knowing there was no point in arguing with her.

‘You will be smart, presentable, full of knowledge, but be friendly too. They must know you can work well with your colleagues. Yes?’ she added.

I put my shirt on a hanger, admiring my handiwork before kissing her on the forehead and saying goodnight. I smiled to myself as I made my way to bed; our relationship was the best thing I had in my life, and we spent plenty of time giving each other love and receiving it from the other.

‘Don’t forget your Maa when you are an important manager in the company, Ashray,’ she called after me.

I let out a loud laugh and called back, ‘Never, Maa. You will have a cottage on my property to grow old in.’

My alarm went off for a second time. I switched it off and swung my legs out of bed. ‘Today will be a good day,’ I told myself before making my way into the bathroom quietly. It was still early, and after many years of dragging my lazy teenage self out of bed, my mother deserved the rest.

Switching on the tap, I splashed cold water on my face to wake up. Looking in the mirror, I examined my face. I needed to shave. I filled the sink with warm water and began the ritual of removing my facial hair. Once I was more established in my position, I would allow myself a five o’clock shadow, but today, I had to make the best impression. As I swept the razor over my face, I took in my features. I liked to imagine that I looked like my father, but had my mother’s eyes. It was strange for me to not have an idea of my real identity. Who did I belong to before Maa? At times, I felt detached, but Maa was always there to pull me back and remind me that love didn’t require blood.

‘Definitely my mother’s eyes,’ I said as I examined my handiwork in the mirror. Satisfied that I was cleanly shaved, I dried my face off and switched on the shower. Steam filled the room, as I allowed the hot water to wash off the last of my grogginess. Out of the shower, I examined myself in the mirror once more; the unruly, thick, black hair was mocking my perfectly shaved face. I placed coconut oil in my hands, and rubbed them together vigorously to warm the waxy substance up before smoothing it through my hair. I washed my hands and combed my hair into its usual style. I took another quick look in the mirror. ‘Looking sharp,’ I told my reflection.