Spandana Narayanadas had returned home not in disgrace, no but with a suspension letter and a wicked smirk that could curdle milk. Most people would've taken a break, gone to Goa, maybe journaled their feelings. Not her. She was burning through crime thrillers like popcorn at a midnight movie"Ayyo Spandana, now even Netflix got scared of your stare? Pause the psycho murder and help me move this sofa!" yelled her younger sister, Harika, stomping into the living room like a hurricane in pajamas.
Her mother, however, had declared spiritual war on whatever demon possessed her daughter to slap a DYSP "I'm busy training my brain cells to be ten steps ahead of serial killers," Spandana deadpanned, eyes glued to the TV.
The Pujas
Harika rolled her eyes so hard they nearly dislocated. "You slapped your boss and now think you're in a Nolan film? Spandy FBI, huh?"
Every corner of their modest South Indian home now smelled of agarbatti, ghee lamps, and divine desperation. Her mother had become a full-time priestess overnight"Better than being the family volcano who explodes when someone forgets to close the toothpaste cap," Spandana smirked.
"Om Shanti Om. Om Shanti Shanti Om..."Shut up, Rakshasi. I love you but I swear I'll glue your mouth one day," Harika said, chucking a pillow at her.
She poured turmeric water on thresholds, placed lemons under Spandana's bed, and tied black threads around every wrist she could reach.
Spandana caught it mid-air. "You'll miss me when I get posted to some mafia-infested city and become a legend."
"Amma, this is a crime drama, not a horror film. Nobody's cursed," Spandana mumbled as she chomped on chakli, eyes glued to Delhi Crime on TV.Hah! You'll be in jail before that. Or a motivational speaker on 'Anger Issues 101'."
"You don't know that! That Rao fellow, I saw his face,he has the aura of Ravana's left nostril! May Goddess Durga slap him back in return!" her mom snapped, throwing a pinch of rice into the havan like she was sending him a spiritual missile.
They burst into laughter before their mom yelled from the kitchen, "Stop throwing pillows! You two fight like criminals and then eat from the same plate like nothing happened."
The Living Room Theatre
Their dad peeked over his newspaper, smiling. "At least they're not chasing criminals through traffic today."
"See that guy on the screen? That's the kind of criminal I deal with. Real psychos," Spandana explained to no one, rewinding a scene for the third time Just then, Spandana's phone buzzed.
Her mother paused mid-aarti to glare. "What's the point of watching criminals when you are one now? Suspension! Shame! If your father hadn't fed you too many boiled eggs, you'd have been born peaceful like your cousin Sneha. She sells artificial jhumkas on Instagram. She meditates."
[INCOMING MAIL: POLICE HQ - MUMBAI TRANSFER COMMITTEE MEETING INVITATION]
Spandana replied without looking, "Sneha also believes in healing crystals and once tried to marry a psychic parrot. Your logic is flawed."
She stared at the screen, unreadable. Her heart thudded once, but her face remained calm.
Her mother gasped and crossed herself—though they weren't even Christian.
Harika peeked over her shoulder. "Uh-oh. Mumbai? Big guns. Bigger gangs. And worse traffic. You're gonna be in shootouts and Zoom meetings. God save Mumbai."
Dad, the Calm Storm
Spandana looked at her sister, then grinned. "Ready for one last war of words before I leave, short fuse?"
Her dad sat on the veranda with his filter coffee, watching cows pass by and not giving a damn about Rao, pujas, or parrot marriages.
"Always, buff biceps. And don't worry. I'll do your laundry with tears and drama."
"Let her be," he said gently. "At least now she'll stay home. No bombs, no bullets. We can sleep without wondering if a grenade followed her home That's touching. But please don't burn my clothes in emotional rage like last time."
He looked over to see Spandana holding a remote in one hand and a protein bar in another.
"One time, Spandana! ONE TIME!"
"You're proud of me, admit it," she saidThe room erupted in laughter again.
"I'm just glad you're not chasing someone with a machete right now. That's enough pride for one week."
But inside Spandana, a silent fire lit up. Mumbai. A new chapter. New chaos. And her name was already on its storm.
He winked, sipped his coffee, and returned to reading the paper.
Breaking News
A news channel in the background broke a story: "CI Spandana Narayanadas under suspension for misconduct after assaulting senior officer."
Her mom immediately stood up, pointed at the TV, and shouted, "Misconduct? That man insulted my daughter's character! May his tongue twist and fall like dry papaya leaf!"
Spandana snorted, nearly choking on her snack.
Her dad adjusted his glasses. "She should've slapped him twice."
She raised her protein bar in salute. "That's why you're my favourite."
And Thus...
The house, now divided between incense smoke and sarcasm, buzzed like a sitcom. But under all the chaos, one thing was clear: Spandana wasn't out of the game. She was just... recharging.