Serving Crazy With Curry Read Online Free PDF Page A

stronger than this?
    “Saroj?” Avi came into the bedroom to find her standing naked, dripping on the hardwood floors. “Put something on, for God's sake,” he said in a rushed voice as he grabbed a towel from the cabinet by the bathroom and wrapped it around her. “The AC is on, you'll catch a cold.”
    “We should give Vasu a break,” Saroj said, tightening the towel around her. She wanted to lean on Avi to erase a part of the scary memory of yesterday, blur the image so secure in her mind.
    She stood away from him, stiff, unable to make her limbs move.
    “You're the one who needs a break,” Avi said softly. “Vasu's just been there for three hours, and she wants to be there.”
    “Devi's my daughter,” Saroj said possessively, snapping out of her blankness. She walked into their large closet to find some clothes.
    “No one's saying otherwise,” Avi said as he followed her in. “You need to get some sleep, eat something. I heated the
biriyani
Shobha and Girish brought last night from the restaurant.”
    “I am not hungry, Avi. Frankly, I don't know how any of you can even think about food,” Saroj muttered, temper replacing sorrow. “She is dying and you are all pretending like it is a normal thing. She is lying in a hospital but we will eat
biriyani.”
    “Oh, so you're the only one who cares about Devi, while we're all… what? Pleased that this happened?” Avi snapped. “Get offyour high horse, Saroj. Doesn't it get tiring always playing the righteous one?”
    “Righteous? I am the one who sat with her all night…”
    “No one asked you to. I wanted to, Vasu wanted to, damn it, even Shobha wanted to, but you threw us all out,” Avi exploded. “And Devi is not dying anymore. She's fine, a little wounded, but alive. Keep that in mind.”
    “Oh, I need you to tell me how my daughter is doing? Is that it?” Saroj demanded as she pulled a
salwar
over her hips and tied the string around her waist.
    “No, what I don't want you to do is upset her when she gets here. Is that too much to ask?” Avi said crisply.
    “Upset her? Why would I upset her? I saved her life,” Saroj cried out as she picked up a matching
kameez
from a shelf. “I love my daughter,” she added, her voice muffled as the
kameez
covered her face before sliding down and falling on her shoulders.
    “You're not the only one who loves Devi,” Avi said, his voice falling, the fight leaving it. “We all love her and we're all hurting.”
    Tears filled Saroj's eyes as she saw the ones shining in Avi's. She wanted to comfort him. So she took a step toward him, to hug him, to hold him as she had several thousands of times, but he walked past her to pull off a white cotton shirt from a hanger.
    He had become adept at buttoning his shirt, all the way, even without his right arm. He probably had always been able to button his shirts and tie his shoelaces with one hand, but he used to ask her for help. Being needed by him was as good as, and sometimes even better than, being loved by him. But as need eroded, Saroj was afraid that maybe even love had worn out. Through this tragic time they couldn't envelop each other and offer comfort. Instead they stood as adversaries, and bickered, from a distance.
    “If something happened they would call, right?” Saroj asked as a new doubt emerged. What if something went wrong while she had been away, while her mother was at watch?
    “Vasu has my cell phone,” Avi said.
    “Yes, she would call,” Saroj nodded and then sighed. “Why? I can't understand it. Shobha would never do something like this … Devi… always so fragile, so … weak.”
    She watched Avi put on the white cotton shirt. Before he could get to the buttons, she took a step toward him and started slipping the white buttons into their buttonholes as she used to all those years ago.
    She could feel the sudden rigidity in his body as she stood close, tension vibrating through him. What was wrong? she wondered. When had it all fallen