2040

It’s a cold December night, my old ass bones know it better than I do. My son lets himself in my room and asks me what I wanted for dinner. “Biryani”, I say. He stares at me waiting for an intelligible sound, and after a few seconds asks again… “Amma, dinner?” “biryani and ask if they have mutton haleem”
“Who should I ask Amma? What should I ask for? Can you say that again?” I’m not listening, my mind has taken me back to impromptu Ramadan dinners at Shah Ghouse and ordering Bawarchi with mom, dad, and brother, after one too many vodkas, a smile greeted itself on my lips
“Why are you smiling amma?” “Can we go to Mozamjahi market one day ? it’s been a while since I saw those roads and lanes”. “Where Mumma?” I’ve never been. I look at him, the smile is gone replaced with a realization it’s called “Jai Ram Market” now. Never mind I’m not hungry anymore.