‘Don’t you have mothers and sisters at home! Outraging my modesty on the road!’

Kartar, slightly taken aback by the response, cleared his throat and added sheepishly,‘I thought you were my mother. Sorry!’

The old woman squinted at him ‘Is that the line these days!’

He could hear Moga laughing behind him all the way to the rickety bike.

Biji was sitting by the side of a busy freeway at a lone dhaba, overlooking a carpet of green fields. Her nose twitched. Armed with a dismal face and a woeful expression, she hoped the gaunt sweaty man frantically baking rotis in the round tandoor would pass her some.

The bloody fool useless son of mine hasn’t been able to find me yet!

She was hoping Kartar would look for her here, as the last two times she was found sitting on this road. She was tired and hungry now. Their house was another twenty-minute walk away and Biji was in no mood to do the trek. They lived in a small village near Dhaliwal. Biji usually escaped to Gurdaspur city if she got bored or wanted to hide from the family. She went back to ogling the man baking rotis in the tandoor.

Perhaps the sweaty bugger hasn’t seen me.

The old woman crawled closer to the guy. She could smell the freshly baked tandoori rotis. The man did not even pause to glance at her. He wore a singlet, his clammy shirt discarded. One hand crudely tied in reams of cloth was acting as a baking glove. He was feverishly taking out hot, crispy breads that a helper was plating and rushing to the main kitchen inside.

Biji coughed to announce her presence.

Asshole, look up once at the old woman dying here!

She moved closer. Biji could almost peep into the tandoor, a circular mud structure with bread stuck to the sides turning light hazel and fluffy with the heat.

‘Go away!’

The man muttered without looking up.

‘You dog! One loaf of bread is not going to kill you! I had a dream that my granddaughter will be born tomorrow. She will be named after Goddess Durga and all of you will be chanting her name! Better still, I will come as a ghost in your dreams when I die, and scare the living day lights out of you!’

The man, unperturbed, continued slapping fresh flattened dough inside the tandoor walls and removing the round, baked, brown ones.

Biji tried a fainting spell, and immediately the man flung a fresh piece of roti her way.

‘I am not carrying you to the hospital.’

‘Why must you make me faint then … and only one! You miser!’ Biji straightened up.

While Biji was wondering if she could wheedle a couple more for her two little granddaughters at home, and perhaps one for that surly daughter-in-law Saroj, she saw her son with that fair neighbour Moga trailing behind.

These buggers with light eyes can never be trusted! Bloody Bhoora!