The moment the bus started moving, Balu rested his head on his mother's shoulder like a little boy and began asking questions one after another.
"Ma, did brother-in-law mention divorce?"
"Sshh, no! It hasn't reached that stage yet… and you're still a small boy, that's more than enough for you to know," Lalitha whispered, half-scolding, half-smiling.
"Okay, Ma… has Harini come back from Coimbatore?"
"She already reached Uncle Dhanabal's house."
"Aiyo, I could have gone there instead… pch!" (pch = annoyed tongue-click)
"What's wrong? Will your periyamma eat you alive?" Lalitha teased, lightly pinching his cheek. "Don't act too clever."
Balu fell silent, snuggled deeper into her soft shoulder, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. The whole bus smelled of hot sambar packets and cheap perfume—the classic night-bus smell.
An hour later the bus pulled into Tharapuram new bus stand.
It was 3:30 in the morning. Cool breeze, empty streets, only a few stray dogs barking in the distance. They took a share-auto up to the layout gate, then a call-taxi for the remaining distance. Fifteen minutes later the car stopped in front of Aunt Manjula's house.
Even before they could ring the bell, the door flew open. Manjula came rushing out—her pallu completely loose, one end tucked at her waist, the other fluttering behind her like a flag. Dark sweat patches under her arms, blouse sticking to her body, black petticoat showing because the saree pleats had come undone.
"Oh my goodness, look at this boy! Balu, you're still thin as a stick! Doesn't your mother feed you anything?" she exclaimed, grabbing both his cheeks and shaking them affectionately.
"She does feed him, Periyamma… but this fellow roams around all day like a street dog," Lalitha laughed.
"Yes, yes, once he's here your periyamma will fatten you up properly. Every day chicken gravy, mutton fry, fish fry, prawn masala—I'll cook different dishes and stuff you till your stomach bursts, my dear," she said and pulled Balu into a tight hug. For two full seconds he felt the warmth, the sweat, and the softness pressed against him.
"Come inside, come come," she said, dragging him by the hand as if he were still ten years old.
The hall light was on. The old sofa sagged in the middle, the fan turned slowly, and the faint smell of yesterday's incense still lingered. Lalitha and Balu sank onto the sofa.
"Where is everyone, Periyamma?" Lalitha asked, stretching her legs.
"Kalpana went to collect the ladies' savings group money, Sandhiyan finished washing vessels and is sleeping upstairs… your brother-in-law is lying in the room as usual," Manjula rattled off in one breath and went inside to fetch water.
She returned with a big steel tumbler, water dripping down the sides because it was ice-cold.
"I washed his face and neck in the bus-stand toilet on the way… but the moment we stepped inside the house, aiyo, that strong body odour hit me," she complained. Then, without any hesitation, she lifted the edge of her black petticoat a little, bent forward, and wiped the sweat from her face, neck, and arms right in front of them. The petticoat rose almost to her knees—Balu quickly looked away, but not before catching the faint sheen of sweat on her fair legs.
"Sister, are you still doing everything yourself?" Lalitha asked with concern.
"Who else is there? Sandhiyan has office, Kalpana has her own family… it's just me, twenty-four hours," Manjula said with a tired laugh.
"What about Mani?"
"Oh, he's pure gold! He never speaks unnecessarily, but every month he quietly puts twenty thousand rupees in my hand for his father-in-law's medicines and expenses. A real gem."
The three of them walked slowly to the last room. Manjula gently pulled the curtain aside—Uncle Arumugam was lying flat on his back, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, a copy of Vikatan magazine fallen on his chest.
"He ate lunch, I cleaned him, gave him his medicines, put him to sleep… now both of you go change. Balu, wash your feet properly first," she said, then hurried toward the kitchen, her hips swaying because the loose saree had lost its pleats.
Lalitha and Balu went to the guest room. Balu took off his shirt and pants, hung them up neatly, and changed into soft cotton shorts and an old t-shirt. Lalitha stepped into the attached bathroom and came out five minutes later, wiping her wet face and neck with the end of her saree. Tiny water droplets still clung to the tips of her hair.
"You go sit with Periyamma… I'll join in two minutes," she told him.
Balu walked to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Manjula was already boiling milk; the rich aroma of freshly ground filter coffee filled the house.
"Coffee or tea, dear?" she asked without turning around.
"Filter coffee, Periyamma… make it strong," Balu replied, standing there watching her move about in the dim yellow light—same sweat, same loose pallu, same tired yet loving smile.
Next chapter: Water-tank cleaning with Periyamma – things are about to get a lot more exciting.