The room hadn't even settled after Nagaraju's words when the younger aunt suddenly straightened in her chair—as if a switch had been flipped.
Her eyes widened. Her voice rose.
"So this is what it is now?" she said dramatically. "You got lucky once, brother, and now you're discarding the entire family!"
Everyone froze.
"You're not even thinking about your children's future," she continued, waving her hands for emphasis. "Just because fate threw an apartment at you, you think life will magically work out?"
The younger uncle nodded beside her, encouraged.
"You're going to Dubai with your family alone," she went on, voice climbing higher, "and leaving the rest of us behind like we don't exist!"
She leaned forward. "Brother, do you even have experience there? Do you have work? Do you know what you'll do to earn? A house alone doesn't change anything. You can still end up on the road!"
The words tumbled out faster now.
"And you're not just risking your own life," she added, pointing dramatically, "you're dragging one elder person with you to an unknown country! She doesn't know the language. She doesn't know the place. How will she survive there?"
She paused for breath, then delivered her final line like a verdict.
"Leave all this aside—how will you survive there? What exactly will you do for a living?"
There was a beat of silence.
Then Bani's mother spoke.
Calm. Steady. Sharp.
"You're free to think that way," she said evenly. "We're only trying to make our life more comfortable and successful."
The younger aunt scoffed, but Bani's mother wasn't done.
"If that makes us selfish, so be it. We've already lived like Daanashoora Karna once—giving, supporting, stretching ourselves for everyone else."
She smiled faintly. "And we ended up on the road because of it."
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
"So if we're on the road again," she continued coolly, "this time it'll be by our own choice. That will be our fate."
The younger aunt opened her mouth—then closed it.
Bani's mother leaned back slightly, unbothered.
"And don't worry," she added, almost cheerfully, "we're not dragging any elder into misery. Once everything is settled there, we'll take Amma with us."
She glanced at Bani's grandmother gently.
"As my husband already said, Amma can live with any of her children. She has more than one. A mother's responsibility belongs to everyone—not just one family."
Her grandmother nodded. "I already told you," she said calmly. "I'll live some days with each of my children."
The younger aunt blinked. Once. Twice.
"So…" she muttered, suddenly unsure, "you've already decided everything?"
Bani, who had been silent all this while, almost smiled.
Because what the younger aunt called drama,
what the elder aunt called concern,
and what the younger uncle called dependence—
Bani knew for what it truly was.
Fear of losing control.
And as the room slowly quieted, one thing became clear to everyone present:
This family was no longer asking for permission.
They were moving forward.
The argument had barely cooled when the eldest uncle cleared his throat again, bringing the discussion back to something practical.
"Nagaraju," he said carefully, "if you're moving to Dubai, what about the supermarket here? It's not a small thing to just leave behind."
Before Nagaraju could answer—
The younger aunt jumped in.
"Well anyway, you're leaving," she said quickly, almost eagerly, "you can just give it to us."
The room went still.
Bani's mother turned slowly.
She smiled.
"Of course," she said sweetly. "After giving it to you, should we start filling our stomachs with mud?"
A pause.
"If we give away the supermarket," she continued calmly, "we may not come on the road in Dubai—but we'll definitely starve here."
The younger aunt blinked, processing.
"Because last I checked," Bani's mother added, tilting her head, "mud is free, but rice isn't."
A suppressed cough. Someone almost laughed.
The younger aunt opened her mouth to respond—but before she could, Nagaraju gently raised his hand.
"That's enough," he said smoothly, cutting in before things escalated further.
He turned to his elder brother, his tone respectful once again.
"I've already thought about the supermarket," he continued.
"I have no intention of giving the supermarket to anyone," he said evenly. "It's a business, not a charity counter."
The younger uncle shifted in his chair.
"The supermarket place is rented," Nagaraju continued. "So my plan is simple. I'll transfer the rental agreement to another party."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"I'll also sell the inventory along with it. Stock, setup—everything."
The elder uncle nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
He paused. "I've also informed the shop owner today and taken his permission."
The eldest uncle nodded slowly, impressed.
"If I'm able to sell it along with the stock," Nagaraju added, "I'll get a decent amount. That will help me set up my own business in Dubai."
The logic was clear. Solid. Unshakeable.
The younger aunt sat back, arms crossed, suddenly very quiet.
Bani's mother glanced at her once more, smiling innocently.
"So no mud diet for anyone," she said lightly. "Everyone can relax."
This time,
no one even tried to hide their smiles.
Bani watched the scene with quiet amusement. The noise, the drama, the interruptions—all of it faded into background.
Her father had already moved past the argument.
And her mother?
She had just proven something important.
This family had learned how to survive—
with strategy,
with dignity,
and occasionally,
with a perfectly timed joke.
The elder uncle leaned back, thoughtful. The elder aunt smiled faintly, hiding whatever calculations ran behind her eyes. The younger aunt sat stiff, suddenly very interested in the edge of her plate.
The decision was already made.
And this time, there was nothing left to interrupt.
Just when it seemed the discussions were finally over, the younger aunt cleared her throat again.
"And the furniture?" she asked casually, as if it were an afterthought. "What will you do with all that?"
Bani's father replied without hesitation. "I don't own this house," he said simply. "So I can't keep the furniture here. I'll have to give it away."