Aparna Sawant, a woman who prioritizes her independence and fulfilling career, has never subscribed to the idea of happily ever after. Marriage, for her, is a practical decision.
Varad Oberoi, a successful businessman hardened by past experiences...
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A P A R N A
In true responsible fashion, I barked out instructions like a drill sergeant. "Sakhi, red crayon! Prem, pencils are for drawing, not chewing! Zoya, lend Rishi a hand with that paper airplane please." With a sigh, I slumped into my chair, running my fingers through the wild jungle of my hair. It was Saturday morning, and here I was at the orphanage, leading a pack of pre-teens in the origami arts of butterfly folding and waterfall sketching.
Lost in a daydream (or maybe two), I was studying the ship I'd painted on the wall a few months back when my phone decided to serenade the room with my ringtone. A chorus of giggles erupted as the kids mimicked the tune. Grinning, I answered the call.
"Hello, Apu? You're coming tonight, right?" Mami's voice, a gentle breeze laced with a hint of steel, filled my ear.
"Coming, Mamishri. On my way," I replied. Mridula Mami and Mohan Mamu might not have had any children of their own, but they'd always treated me like their favorite daughter (and niece, even though Mamu wasn't technically related by blood; he was my late aunt's brother). My own memories of Kaka and Kaki were hazy - they'd died in a car crash just a few months after I was born. But Mamu and Mami, despite not being blood relatives, had stepped in and held my hand through everything, especially after...well, eight years ago.
"Perfect. And listen, see if Antara and Nadia are free. Bring them along too," Mami added. Both girls adored her. Antara, my partner-in-crime since our college days, and Nadia, who we'd met while interning at Aditya Automobiles together. Antara ended up landing a sweet gig at Acharya Group, but our little trio was as solid as ever.
"I'll check with them. Okay, gotta go, love you!" I said, hanging up.
"Alright, artists! Time to unveil your masterpieces?" I declared, whipping my head around to see a sea of eager faces. A chorus of "Yesses!" and enthusiastic nods filled the room.
With goodbyes exchanged and the door shut behind the last giggling kiddo, a familiar emptiness settled in. Antara was off visiting her brother, which usually meant trouble with a capital T. Lunch with him obviously meant an extended stay, because honestly, who could resist Antara for just a few hours?
Left to my own devices, culinary mastery wasn't exactly on the menu. My kitchen skills were limited to the holy trinity of bachelorhood: khichri, Maggi, and a questionable cup of tea. Tonight, khichri it was. As I savored each (slightly burnt) bite, the phone buzzed, pulling me away from my Friends marathon (because let's be honest, that show is basically my life support system).
"You are early today. Bhai got tired of your shit so early?" I asked her while settling myself on the couch and sticking another spoonful of the khichri in my mouth. Usually when she got back early, it was because she had created some problems in her brother's house. They had a rocky relationship. He would kick her out one day and then they would be having a playful banter the next.
