He ran through the steps in his mind, as clearly as he could. Did he know how to make dosa? Did he know how to make it properly? As the images in his mind’s eye began to whirr through his brain, suddenly, looking around the shop, the products shimmied their way off the shelves, closing in on him, the bright colours of the different packets, the reds, the pinks, the blues, all blurred in his vision.
‘Nikhil!’ Mukesh called.
‘Yes, Mukesh?’
‘Mane paani joie che?’
‘Yes, one second. You need water right now?’
‘Ha, please, beta.’
Mukesh clasped his hand to his chest, his breathing laboured. Nikhil, in a flash, had pulled him up a chair that had been hiding behind the desk, and just as swiftly brought him a stainless-steel cup of cold water.
‘Bas.’
Mukesh sipped slowly.
He tried some of the yoga breathing that Vritti swore by. In, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out.
And eventually, breath by breath, he began to feel better. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t Nikhil’s. It was Naina’s. Reminding him he could do this.
Mukesh watched as the clock turned five. They weren’t here yet.
Mukesh watched as the clock ticked to five fifteen. They weren’t here yet.
Mukesh watched as the clock tocked …
The doorbell rang. Here they were!
Mukesh stood up more quickly than he could physically manage. He’d left his stomach on the chair, and his body walked off without it.
He opened the door, wiping his sweaty-nervous palms on his trousers.
Priya ran in, clasping To Kill a Mockingbird to her chest. His heart lifted like it was as light as air.
‘I love this book, Dada! I love Scout so much. I wish I could do adventurous things like her, sometimes.’
‘I thought you would, beta.’ He leaned over to kiss the top of her head as she wrapped her arms about him. ‘Besides, you have different kinds of adventures. All kinds!’
Priya squeezed him back, before running in to settle herself down on her usual chair, to continue reading. Naina had set this in motion, step by step, in small, intangible ways. Priya was reading a book he knew all about. He knew the world Priya was in right now. There was something magical in that – in sharing a world you have loved; allowing someone to see it through the same pair of spectacles you saw it through yourself.
Rohini put her arm around his shoulders, tentatively, pulling him back to the moment. He could tell with one eye she was scouting out the house, looking for the bits she could quickly tidy, and the bits she could add to her ‘nag list’ too, but as she began to open her mouth to speak, she closed it again with a sigh. ‘Hi Papa,’ she said. ‘How are you? I have bought some ingredients to make dinner.’
Mukesh shook his head. ‘No. It’s fine, Rohini, beti. I am making dinner. I have got all the ingredients.’
Rohini raised her eyebrows, visibly impressed.
Nikhil had googled the recipe for him and had written it out on the back of used and forgotten receipts. He’d stapled them in the correct order and they now sat on Mukesh’s kitchen counter. He’d already managed to make the filling, potatoes fried with jeera, methi, hing and raai, so softly cooked they were like a delicious stodgy lovely paste to pop in the middle. He felt like a chef: ‘Here’s some I made earlier.’
The sambal （he had cheated and had bought a sachet from Nikhil who said he wouldn’t tell anyone） was bubbling away, and the batter for the dosa themselves was already mixed. （He’d used a sachet again, but no one had the time or strength to actually grind the urud themselves. That is what Nikhil had said and Nikhil had let Mukesh in on a secret: even Naina had used the sachets as soon as they had been invented.）
‘All I need to do is fry the dosa!’
‘Dosa!’ Priya jumped up and down. It was like she was a 7 year old again.
He had managed it; he had achieved the impossible: he had made a dish that wasn’t comprised of mung beans or okra. It truly was an achievement. Rohini was stunned. She watched, in awe, as Mukesh almost successfully made the pancakes （almost, because he was a little impatient with them and they were a bit misshapen, soggy, broken up … but they tasted just the same）。
‘Can I help?’ Rohini said, rolling her sleeves up.
‘No, no,’ Mukesh said. Rohini sat on the edge of her chair, as though poised to step in at any moment. But she didn’t, and Mukesh was pleased. She had grown too, it seemed. She was trusting him.
The three of them sat down together. Mukesh took his plate last. It was a new thing for him. He was being the mum, he was being Naina, Marmee too, and he loved it.