We have placed the order at Rajjot. Some of it has arrived; some is still pending.
Menon goes: “Aunty, do gobhi paranthe rehte hain humare?”
She turns, bemused, scanning the area to make sure the comment was directed at her. Her eyes lock on Mallu’s face. Walking back a couple of strides, gesturing toward herself, she appeals: “Kya main tumhe aunty lagti hun?”
Something shakes. The place trembles.
Menon freezes. The rebuke lands; he goes silent. But Menon is Menon. He endures, gathers what courage remains, and says: “Sorry... Aunty!”
The tense atmosphere reduces to a collective cackle.