Free A Scandalous Secret by Jaishree Misra Page A

parents since she was a child. Neha enquired after the old cook’s family back in Nepal before turning her attention back to the dogs who had perked up at the sight of food. The trolley was elaborately laid out with bone china quarter plates and lace-edged linen serviettes, as was customary in her mother’s house, and, with the fuss of pouring and serving, the conversation turned to more general matters.
    Neha, thinking again about the arrival of the letter from England, realized suddenly why she had never got around to confiding in her mother, even as a nineteen-year-old. She looked at her mother’s prim figure and pursed lips as she poured the tea and realized, with a suddenly very heavy feeling, how little her mother had changed over the years. Neha knew there was little point in looking for help and sympathy now, all these years down the line and with so much more to lose. It would be counterproductive and, besides, given her parents’ age, Neha could not discount what the shock of discovering they had a secret granddaughter could do to them. No, she would have to face this by herself. And face it as bravely as she could. Blinking back a sudden rush of tears, Neha bent over to feed two very excited boxers an unexpected bounty of chocolate cake.
    Swiftly gathering herself together, Neha took the cup of tea her mother was holding out. ‘Shall I call Papa and see where he’s got to?’ she asked.
    Her mother glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Hmm, by now he should have left the greens. Yes, call him if you’re short of time.’
    Neha flipped her phone open and clicked on her father’sname. ‘ Haanji , Papa, where are you? I’m at Kailash Colony, having tea with Mama. Okay, good, I’ll wait.’ She slid the phone back into its case and picked up her tea cup again. ‘He’s not far, just at the Moolchand flyover,’ she said.
    Neha talked to her mother about the usual things, her mother filling her in on the family gossip regarding a cousin’s acrimonious divorce before moving on to the difficulty she was having in finding a good driver and her own health problems. Their subjects of conversation never changed very much, Neha having long trained herself to keep things innocuous. When her father arrived, she got up to give him a relieved hug. Her relationship with her genial father had always been much warmer but, with retirement, he too had developed a general complaining air that left little room for genuine communication.
    â€˜How was the golf, Papa?’
    â€˜Good, beta , good,’ he responded, sinking into a chair with a groan and taking the cup of tea his wife was offering him. ‘And how are things with you and Sharat? Did your party go well?’ he enquired.
    â€˜Sharat’s going to get a South Delhi seat,’ Neha’s mother cut in.
    â€˜He hopes he’ll get it, Mama,’ Neha clarified. ‘The Minister was only promising to talk to the PM. Nothing pukka yet.’
    â€˜That’s what this country needs,’ her father said, ‘more educated and upstanding people like Sharat coming into politics. That’s the only way we can get all the goonda elements out. Look at the way they behave in Parliament – did you see those scenes on TV yesterday? Throwing chappals and chairs at the Speaker – ruddy shameful! Can you imagine any other Parliament in the world allowing such a thing? The whole lot of them should be sacked, I say.’
    The conversation stayed in that vein and, an hour later, returning home from her parents’ house, Neha felt exhausted. Increasingly, her communication with her parents was ceasing to be meaningful, their conversations skimming only the surfaces of their real feelings. But how could she blame them? It was she who had first introduced lies into their relationship.
    Â 
    â€˜The course was too tough for me, Mama, I just could not cope’ … ‘I was homesick and