Moving Out

Back in the kitchen at my in-laws’ flat, I couldn’t find the space to cook, either emotionally or physically. I walked into the kitchen one morning and Naseem Aunty was there, making parathas.

’Beta, when do you think you and Juni will have children?’ she asked.

‘We haven’t talked about it yet,’ I replied, surprised she’d sprung this on me. ‘Besides, Naseem Aunty, we’re really quite young.’

‘Twenty-three isn’t that young; many girls are mothers at your age,’ she replied, casually tossing a paratha onto the tawa griddle pan, ‘I think it’ll help you as a couple. Also, beta, you can call me Mama.’