Tito’s dad was dead. His mum worked as a cook to provide for the family. Laltu’s dad was an alcoholic and beat up his mum regularly. Babloo’s parents were separated. Not divorced. I didn’t know the difference between the two until Babloo explained it to me. The reason for the separation…. I understood that his parents fought and his dad moved out to stay with another woman. Sunny’s mother suffered from something called schizophrenia. People called her mad. There wasn’t any money for medication.

Just a slice of life of a lower middle class classroom in a government high school located in a small town in my country. In American lingo they called it dysfunctional families. I got that from the Hollywood movies I watch on television. My family was functional to all appearances. Pa was a peon. But we lived well in a one bedroom apartment. I knew there were whispers that my Pa took bribes. Where was the money coming from? The flat screen television, the refrigerator, the bike which my Pa drove. But that didn’t bother me. It didn’t bother anybody. Taking bribes are commonplace these days…nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, people look for grooms in bribe taking positions for their daughters. But it was the real secret of our family,that one swept under the carpet. Did everyone know about it…our little nasty secret but avoided mentioning it ? Or the other possibility was that no one knew about it. 

The ‘it’ was that my mum drank. It was unheard of. Not a glazed eye slurring alcoholic but she drank like she had to drink to live. In other families, the reason for dysfunctionality included disease, deaths, poverty and fathers. Alcoholic fathers. Abusive fathers. Womanizing fathers. That’s why Pas were addressed with capital letters and respect. But here in our family it was my mum. Downing two glasses in the morning. Didn’t know how many in the afternoon after Pa left for work and I for school. At night she started at 9 after she put me to sleep. Pouring herself glass after glass as she read or watched television on the couch in the drawing room. She didn’t let it affect her daily chores. Cook, clean, wash blah. Not a single day where I missed school. Almost robotic. She held her drinks well though. Not like the tipsy men I have seen stumbling around on the road. Every week mum went off quietly to buy her weekly stash. I was  surprised by the fact that Pa didn’t object but I surmised it was because she didn’t shop much otherwise. She wasn’t fond of clothes, jewellery or accessories. Minimalistic. She wasn’t fond of people either. Sometimes I felt Pa and I just existed for her. Others didn’t even exist for her. No friends. I was under the impression she didn’t think much of the neighbours. She didn’t talk much at home either about herself or her family. My mum’s side of the family didn’t exist it seemed. I asked mum about them but she didn’t answer. Pa’s relatives visited us a few times. Dadi, my paternal grandmother, called upon us just once. They looked uncomfortable and mum didn’t do anything to put them at ease. Therein ended the communication. 

It was the day when we received a call that my Nani, my maternal grandmother, had passed away that I realised that I had a Nani.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had a Nani? I’ve never even seen her,” I cried. 

She ignored me. 

“We’ll have to go,” she told Pa.

“Do we have to go?” he asked, reluctance in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Where?” I asked.

The answer amazed me. The biggest city in the country. The capital.

The tickets were booked and we were off by train. An overnight journey and we reached our destination. I could hardly hold back my excitement. A huge white gleaming car with a chauffeur was waiting to receive us. We slipped inside …Pa and I fumbling and mum with elan like it was something she was used to. The car glided to a stop in front of a bungalow. A cream coloured structure with polished glass doors and windows. I stepped out, overawed. This used to be mum’s house? Tall and straight, mum moved with confidence across the green manicured lawns to the expansive white marble hall where people dressed in pristine white sat around what I assumed correctly was Nani’s body resting on a bed, laden with beautiful flowers. Pa and I followed her. Shabby. Out of place. I felt eyes on us. Curious. Disparaging. Mum touched the dead body’s feet. We followed suit. An old man entered the hall. At once I knew it was Mum’s Pa. The same gait. The same arrogance. Both of them ignored each other and the eyes of the crowd boring into them. 

“I want to go to the bathroom,” I whispered to Pa. Somehow I felt distant from my mum.

I was ushered to the bathroom by who I assumed was a staff member. Luxurious. With a bathtub. I wasn’t sure how to operate the flush. I succeeded after a couple of trials and errors. I walked out and looked around. I heard a whisper behind me.

“Is that the child? Chandra’s son….Chandra who ran away?”

I flushed. So that was it. My mum had run away with Pa. I glanced at Pa. Unobtrusive. Invisible. How did mum fall for Pa?

“Shhhhh…,” the whispers continued. “ No..no…that’s just the husband…The boy Chandra ran away with….no one knows what happened to him…some say Chandra killed him because he was planning to dump her after using her…some say her her father killed him…anyway he disappeared…they bought Chandra back…huge scandal it was… they hushed it up..and got her married to a peon in a small town for a huge dowry.”

“Peon?” The question gurgling with malicious laughter didn’t require an answer .

“Yep…Peon….I believe they still pay him to meet his basic needs.”

I couldn’t move. I felt heat surging through my cheeks. I wanted to hide. Run away to the comfort of our one bedroomed apartment. My eyes desperately searched for mum. She was standing like she was alone in the hall. Stiff and regal. Aloof. Unapproachable. Her eyes, somewhere far away. My Mum. The Stranger.