The moment the bus started moving, Balu dropped his head on his mom's shoulder like a small boy and started firing questions.
"Ma, did brother-in-law say anything about divorce or what?"
"Sshh da! It hasn't reached that level yet… and you're still a small boy, this much knowledge is more than enough for you," Lalitha whispered, half-scolding, half-laughing.
"Okay ma… Harini coming from Coimbatore or what?"
"She already reached Dhanabal mama's house along with him da."
"Aiyo, I could have also gone there only na… pch!" (pch = that irritated tongue-click Tamil people make when they're sulking or annoyed)
"Why da? Will your periyamma swallow you alive or what?" Lalitha teased, pinching his cheek lightly. "Don't act too smart."
Balu just kept quiet, leaned more into her soft shoulder, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. The whole bus smelled of hot sambar packets and cheap perfume, typical night-travel smell.
One hour later the bus stopped at Tharapuram new bus stand. It was almost 3:30 in the morning. Cool breeze, zero crowd, only a few stray dogs barking somewhere. They booked a share-auto till the layout gate, then a call-taxi the rest of the way. Fifteen minutes later the car stopped in front of periyamma Manjula's house.
Even before they rang the bell, the front door burst open and Manjula periyamma came running out — pallu completely loose, one side tucked at the hip, the other side flying behind her like a flag. Her armpits were fully soaked with sweat, blouse sticking to her skin, black petticoat peeping out because the saree fold had opened up.
"Ada ada ada! Look at this boy da! Balu, you're still a dry stick da! Doesn't your mom feed you anything or what?" she shouted the moment she saw him, pulling his cheeks with both hands.
"She feeds him periyamma… but this fellow roams the whole day like a street dog. That's why," Lalitha laughed.
"Aama aama, here only your periyamma will stuff you properly da. Daily chicken gravy, mutton chukka, fish fry, prawn masala — everything I will cook everything variety-variety and feed you till your stomach bursts, kanna," (kanna = literally "eye", super affectionate term used for kids/youngsters, like "darling" or "sweetheart") she said and hugged Balu tight to her chest for two full seconds. Balu could feel the sweat and the softness at the same time.
"Come inside da… come come," she pulled him by his hand like he was still ten years old.
The hall light was on. Old model sofa that sinks in the middle, one fan rotating slowly, smell of yesterday's agarbathi still hanging in the air. Lalitha and Balu crashed on the sofa.
"Where is everyone periyamma?" Lalitha asked, stretching her legs.
"Kalpana went for chits collection (chits = ladies' monthly savings group, very common in small towns), Sandhiyan is sleeping upstairs after doing all the vessel washing… and clothes soaking… husband is lying in the room as usual," Manjula said in one breath and went inside to fetch water.
She came back with a big steel tumbler, water dripping from the sides because it was ice-cold.
"On the way I washed his neck and face in the bus stand toilet… but the moment we entered the house, aiyo, the smell hit me like one-way water da," (one-way water = Coimbatore/Tamil idiom for strong body odour that attacks only one side of the nose) she complained, then suddenly lifted the bottom of her black petticoat a little, bent forward and wiped her sweaty face, neck and thighs right in front of them. The petticoat went up almost till knee length — Balu quickly looked away, but not before seeing the shiny sweat on her fair legs.
"Sister, you're still doing everything yourself?" Lalitha asked with worry.
"Who else will do it machi?" (machi = super common Coimbatore slang for "dude/bro", used even with girls/women casually) Manjula laughed sadly. "Sandhiyan has office, Kalpana has her own family… only I'm here 24 hours."
"What about Mani?" (Kalpana's husband)
"Ada, he is pure gold da! Never opens his mouth unnecessarily, but every month without fail twenty-thousand rupees he puts in my hand for his father-in-law's medicines and expenses. No questions asked. That boy is a real diamond."
Then the three of them walked slowly to the last room to check on bedridden Arumugam mama (mama = mother's sister's husband or any uncle from mom's side). Manjula slid the curtain a little — mama was lying flat, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, Vikatan book fallen on his chest.
"He ate lunch, I cleaned him, gave medicine, made him sleep… now only you both go change clothes da. Balu, go wash your legs properly first," (washing legs/feet after coming from outside = strict rule in almost every Tamil house) "I'll make filter coffee (filter coffee = the original South Indian drip coffee). Still half the night work is pending," saying this she rushed to the kitchen, hips swaying wide because of the loose saree.
Lalitha and Balu went to the guest bedroom. Balu pulled off his shirt and pants, hung them on the hanger, wore the soft cotton shorts and old t-shirt he had packed. Lalitha went into the attached bathroom, came out five minutes later wiping her wet face and neck with her pallu. Tiny water droplets were still falling from her hair.
"You go sit with periyamma da… I'll come in two minutes," she told him.
Balu walked to the kitchen rubbing his eyes. Manjula was already boiling milk, the smell of freshly ground coffee powder filling the entire house.
"Coffee or tea da?" she asked without turning.
"Filter coffee only periyamma… strong one," Balu said and stood there watching her move around in the dim kitchen light — the same sweat, the same loose pallu, the same tired but caring smile.
Waiting for upcoming chapters with exciting episode title: Cleaning the Overhead Tank – First Real Shock