The day Lakshmi left her daughter’s house began like so many others, with the quiet routines that had slowly come to define her life in the city. Dawn had crept in through the thin curtains, tinting the walls a pale gold. Somewhere outside, a pressure cooker hissed from a neighboring flat, and a distant horn cut through the early morning haze. Lakshmi sat up on the edge of the bed she had slept in for nearly two years now, smoothing the edge of her white sari with practiced fingers.
She moved carefully, mindful not to wake anyone. Old habits from village life stayed with her, even here in Greater Kailash, where the floors were polished marble and the furniture smelled faintly of lemon cleaner. She folded her blanket, stacked her pillow neatly, and paused for a moment, her hands resting in her lap.
This is my place now, she reminded herself, repeating the thought she had clung to since the day she arrived from Alwar with a single suitcase and a heart full of faith.
After her husband’s illness had finally taken him away, the silence of the village house had grown unbearable. Every corner held his absence. The creak of the cot at night. The empty chair near the window where he once read the newspaper aloud. When Riya suggested she sell the house and come live with them in Delhi, Lakshmi had not hesitated.
My daughter will look after me, she had thought then, with calm certainty. I will look after my granddaughter. This is how families survive.
That belief had traveled with her, folded carefully alongside her clothes.
By the time Aarav woke, Lakshmi was already in the kitchen, rolling out small rotis, her bangles softly clinking with each movement. The boy padded in, hair sticking up in odd directions, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Daadi,” he murmured, leaning against her leg.
She smiled down at him, warmth spreading through her chest. “Good morning, my lion. Go wash your face. I’ve made your favorite.”
Later, she walked him to kindergarten, his small hand warm and trusting in hers as they navigated the crowded lane. Auto rickshaws buzzed past, vendors shouted prices, and the sun climbed higher with each step. Lakshmi listened to Aarav chatter about crayons and songs, nodding at the right moments, laughing when he laughed.
These walks were her joy. They made her feel needed.
The afternoon heat arrived like an uninvited guest. By early afternoon, the air inside the house felt thick, heavy, pressing against her skin. The ceiling fan whirred uselessly, pushing warm air from one corner to another. Outside, the leaves of the small garden hung limp, barely moving as hot wind swept through.
Lakshmi finished folding the laundry and eased herself into a chair near the dining table. Her throat felt dry, each swallow scraping. She glanced around, hesitating.
On the table stood a glass, half full. Sweet lime juice. A few ice cubes floated weakly, already shrinking under the heat. Aarav must have left it there before running off to play.
Lakshmi stared at it for a long moment.
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