Maata adjusts her posture. Her silk house dress whispers softly as it glides against the sofa fabric. She picks up another nastar, rolling it between her thumb and index finger. Outside, Bengaluru's signature crows answer each other from the mango tree—sharp and alive against the living room's sudden heaviness, as if history has quietly taken a seat with us.
"Tara," she says lightly, like she's remembering something trivial,
"do you want to hear… how Ma and Pa got married?"
Tara straightens at once.
Hyper-curious mode: activated.
"I DO."
Fast. No pause.
"It's exciting, right? IT'S EXCITING, RIGHT?"
I let out a short sigh.
"Is this the romantic version… or the strategic disaster-management version?"
Tara shoots me a warning look.
"Bhaiya, be quiet. This is history."
Maata chuckles.
"Both," she says, pleased.
"Sit nicely, honey."
She leans back, arms crossed in that relaxed way of someone who knows her story will set the room on fire.
"Tara," Maata begins, her voice low and steady,
"when Pa said he wanted to marry Ma, Ma didn't just see flowers falling everywhere…"
She tilts her head, almost amused at her own memory.
"Ma also saw the State of Astina behind his back. A big family. Political connections. And bureaucratic walls that can swallow a foreigner alive."
Tara and I go quiet. We both realize—again—that our existence here is the result of the most unhinged risk assessment Maata has ever performed.
"So Ma made one request," she continues.
"Ma wanted—just a few days after stepping foot into Pa's country—"
She raises one finger.
"—we get married. Immediately. Officially."
Tara blinks.
"Immediately??"
"Yes," Maata answers calmly.
"So the first time Ma and Pa truly met… was at a pre-wedding that wasn't 'pre' at all—because Ma had already signed the civil marriage documents."
Tara squeals.
"IS THAT THE VIDEO YOU WERE LAUGHING YOUR HEAD OFF AT THE OTHER DAY??"
I jump in shamelessly.
"Imagine being Pa."
Maata glances at me.
"Don't imagine it. It's heavy."
Tara leans forward.
"Why, Ma?"
Maata smiles. Not flirty—honest.
"Because Pa's aura, to Ma, was… magnificent," she says.
"And Ma didn't want to meet him, then be separated—alone—in a hotel room, in a foreign country, knowing no one…"
She lets out a small snort.
"—miserable, with restrained longing, while Pa is only a few kilometers away."
She pauses, then adds, clinical and clean:
"Also, based on Ma's observations: here, if you don't have a legal status tied to someone powerful, you are transparent. Invisible."
She looks at Tara.
"And invisible people are very easy to erase."
Tara nods hard.
"True…"
"And Ma wanted to be with Pa as much as Ma wanted," Maata continues, without shame.
I add carefully, like an analyst auditing a miracle:
"And Pa said yes. No negotiation?"
Tara's eyes widen.
"And he agreed??"
Maata nods.
"Of course. But that was only chapter one."
Tara practically slides to the edge of the sofa.
"What else, Ma?"
"Before going to Pa's country," Maata says,
Ma arranged a strategy for Ma's family first."
I laugh softly.
"This is the part Pa calls pre-marital logistics."
Maata nods.
"Ma asked permission from your grandmother to work in the big city. A job offer. Decent pay."
She smiles.
"Official title: professional. Real title: Pa's personal prayer specialist."
Tara bursts out laughing.
"THAT'S SPIRITUAL EMPLOYMENT!"
"For three months," Maata continues,
"Ma asked to have living expenses covered. Asked Pa to send a list of do's and don'ts."
"And Ma enjoyed the food in Ma's country as much as possible first."
"Training too," she adds.
"Training?" Tara repeats.
"Adapting to Pa's country's cuisine. Basic language. Etiquette. Self-care."
Maata shrugs.
"And a few skills Pa decided Ma needed. Ma didn't want to become Pa's weak point—though, by default, Ma does have a talent for embarrassing him."
I nod.
"And Ma asked Pa to send money."
Tara whips her head toward me.
"WHAT?"
"For Ma's family," Maata answers flatly.
"When people say everyone has their own timeline for success—that's true."
She pauses.
"But parents share almost the same deadline."
The room goes a little quiet.
"Ma was lucky to meet Pa," Maata continues softly.
"Ma could provide professional care and protection for your grandmother."
"Maybe Pa was God's gift to a grandmother who always shared kindness."
Tara goes still.
"Wow…"
"The problem is," Maata sighs dramatically,
"Ma is violently allergic to learning languages."
I immediately jump in.
"TRUE. That's why Ma forced us to learn so many."
"Your brains are more advanced," Maata says.
"One language alone, from childhood, already comes with levels and dialects. Exhausting."
"For Ma, science is easier. Math, physics. You can formalize it."
Tara stares.
"Then… Pa's language?"
Maata smiles, wicked.
"Ma purposely didn't want to master it too well."
I laugh first.
"So when Pa scolds Ma, he uses English," Maata says casually.
"So Ma can buffer."
Tara almost collapses.
"HAHAHAHA."
"If Pa uses his native language," Maata adds lightly,
"Ma assumes Udit Narayan is singing."
She exhales, satisfied.
"Pa's voice is melodious."
Tara laughs so hard she grabs her stomach.
"Anyway," Maata wraps up that part,
"Pa handled everything. Tickets. Places. Security."
"Immigration in Ma's country is strict," she continues.
"Lots of people fail interviews because there are many love-scam cases that turn into trafficking."
Tara doesn't laugh this time. She sits a little straighter, fingers tightening around the pillow edge.
"Ma…" her voice drops half an octave.
"Weren't you scared?"
Maata chuckles—not casual. More like opening a drawer of old memories.
"Of course I was," she admits.
She points at herself with her thumb.
"Especially going to a country Ma had never stepped into at all."
She pauses—not for drama, but to choose the exact words.
"Cases like Ma marrying Pa… there are many, Tara. In international news they look romantic—but the ending…"
Maata lifts one shoulder.
"—the woman is found. And the system closes it with one sentence: suicide."
The room turns quieter. I can hear Tara's breathing slow.
"At that time Ma had nothing except your grandmother's prayers," Maata continues, softer.
"Match, provision, and death are already written by God."
She smiles crookedly.
"In Ma's head a classic scenario showed up:
suddenly a messenger from Pa's family arrives, carrying a blank cheque."
Tara reflexively laughs.
"HAHA—Ma…"
"Relax," Maata cuts in quickly.
"The version in Ma's head was far more absurd."
She imitates herself in a calm voice:
'If you want me to leave, call him right now. You'll go bigger and bigger on the number. You two auction. Whoever loses, withdraw.'
Tara howls. I exhale.
"Be serious, Ma."
Maata nods.
"That's exactly where the seriousness is."
She leans back.
"If it truly happened, both sides would yank back their blank cheques."
"And Ma—" she exhales shortly,
"—would be too lazy to debate people who, from the start, consider Ma a deletable variable."
She looks at us, one by one.
"Maybe Ma would say:
'If you're sending someone to erase me, don't be half-hearted. Just transfer the money to me. Discount. Usually model fees are in the billions, right?'"
Tara clamps a hand over her mouth—half horrified, half laughing.
"And then… did it happen?" Tara asks carefully.
Maata shakes her head.
"No."
A thin smile.
"My road to marrying Pa was as smooth as a toll road.
Thanks to your Pa's intelligence."
I snort.
"Pa doesn't like wild variables."
"And if we used Ma's imagination," Maata continues, laughing,
"maybe Pa would be with some aunty from a very big surname, and you two would have blue, grey, or emerald eyes."
"Or you'd be some ultra-smooth Asia-Europe blend—while Ma is very rich."
"Ma," I say flatly,
"I'm reporting you to Pa."
Maata laughs freely.
"Now, listen," she says—still light, but her eyes are not joking anymore.
"Choose:
a blank cheque—
or your bodies become political stage material, photographed, labeled suicide, and every key witness gets erased too."
She pauses.
Not for drama—so we truly hear it.
"And once you've logged out," Maata continues slowly,
"the children of those influential families—whose 'honor' you protected with your lives—"
"Continue their happy lives. Good schools. Clean careers. Beautiful marriages.
As if nothing ever happened."
Tara swallows. Maata rests her head back. Her voice drops a level—more like a note than a threat.
"Ma doesn't hate families like that," she says evenly.
"Ma simply does not allow them into our system."
She looks at us again, calm—almost administrative.
"In this world there are families who choose prestige, then clean their own tracks."
"Or people who bring disasters into other lives—then wash their hands and call themselves victims."
"Ma logs it."
A short beat.
"Not compatible with our lineage. Excluded."
Tara swallows again.
"Yeah…"
Maata nods.
"That's why, when Ma decided to marry Pa, the 'erase-me' scenario was already in the risk list."
She doesn't sound afraid.
She sounds ready.
"Ma only prayed," she continues,
"if it had to end—let it end elegantly. Without dragging anyone down."
Her gaze softens.
"People forget," she says gently,
"forbidden love grows the strongest."
"Sometimes the wisest move isn't to fight, but to let fate decide on its own."
Silence again.
This time, heavy silence.
She exhales.
"And about women here…"
Maata shakes her head slightly.
"Absurd. If you go out at night, you're instantly labeled 'not a good woman.'
As if that's a license for others to do whatever they want."
"That's why Ma asked for a flight that arrived in daylight."
Tara pouts.
"Scary…"
Maata looks at us.
"But the logic is simple."
"If Pa sells Ma… he loses money."
I grin.
"Negative ROI."
"Pa's investment is bigger than the selling price," Maata says firmly.
All three of us laugh. Tara furrows her brow. Her voice turns soft—genuinely trying to understand.
"Then… why didn't Pa go see Grandma instead, Ma?"
Maata doesn't brush it off. She sits up straighter. Her hand stops playing with the edge of the blanket.
One second. Two.
Then a small shake of her head.
"Ma didn't allow it," she says.
Not loud. Not harsh. Final.
"Pa's safety."
I nod—an old reflex. Tara looks at me, then back at Maata.
"Why?" her voice drops another octave.
Maata turns to both of us. Her gaze is calm, almost clinical.
"If something happens to Ma during travel," she says quietly,
"the damage is limited to Ma's family's or Pa's emotions."
A beat—then she continues, without dramatic pause.
"But if Pa—"
Her gaze sweeps over us, one by one.
"It doesn't hit only Ma."
"Family."
"And hundreds of people whose lives depend on Pa's stability."
The room goes silent.
Not sad-silent—scale-silent.
Tara swallows.
"Okay…"
"That's… heavy."
Maata smiles faintly. Not proud. Accepting.
"That's why Ma goes."
Then, like she suddenly remembers something—oddly more exhausting than all the scenarios she just listed—Maata smiles again.
"Oh, right," she says casually,
"to this day… your grandmother still doesn't know what Pa actually does."
Tara jerks her head up.
"WHAT?"
I snort.
"Still?"
"Yes," Maata answers lightly.
"Ma only said Pa works on a site."
She shrugs.
"A site that moves from country to country."
Tara bursts into laughter.
"Grandma's version of field IT."
Ma leans forward slightly, her tone turning half-conspiratorial.
"Handling your grandma requires strategy," she says.
"Not because she's evil. But because the risk is… absurd prayers."
I laugh softly. I know exactly what absurd prayers means in Grandma's vocabulary.
"The problem is," Maata continues,
"if Grandma learns your Pa's real specs—"
She stops. Then shakes her head.
"Guaranteed rejection. Or agreement with insomnia."
Tara stares.
"WAIT—WHY—"
"Overqualified," Maata cuts in.
"Like applying for a job with a CV that's too good. HR gets suspicious."
I add dryly:
"And Grandma is the type who hates a complicated life."
"Exactly," Maata says quickly.
"Grandma's ideal is simple."
She imitates Grandma's gentle-but-firm tone:
'If there's a young man next door who looks decent,
has a clear job, and his face can be seen often—then that's enough.'
Tara laughs so hard her shoulders bounce.
"So she can monitor her beautiful daughter every day," Maata adds.
"Not some mysterious son-in-law that forces Grandma to pray using GPS."
I nod. Makes sense.
"So," Maata says, crossing her legs,
"Pa's identity is simplified."
"Not hidden. Compressed."
She leans back again, voice softening.
"Honestly, Ma wanted to enjoy the early days longer with Pa," she admits.
Then she chuckles—like someone who knows life doesn't bargain.
"But we're aware of age."
She looks at us.
"Ma thought Ma could wait until you grew up."
"So Ma could be with Pa longer later."
Tara releases a long breath.
"Ugh… Ma."
Maata smiles, warm this time.
"I told you," she says lightly,
"Pa's charm is dangerous. For a weak woman like Ma, I can lose my mind."
I shake my head, laughing quietly.
Maata exhales too—like someone who chose a path long ago, and never regretted it.
"My biggest risk," she says then, voice lowering,
"was only one."
We go quiet.
"Pa changes his mind."
Tara tenses.
"AND?"
"At minimum," Maata shrugs,
"Ma could sell the cooking skills Ma trained for here. Go home."
I laugh.
"Full contingency plan."
"Thankfully," Maata smiles sweetly,
"Pa didn't change his mind."
She looks at both of us.
"And to this day, Pa is still trapped in Ma's love."
Tara covers her mouth.
"SO SWEET."
Then Maata adds, like she remembers something new—casual, but loaded with context.
"Oh, right," she says, grabbing another nastar,
"Ma only joined a community from Ma's country… after one year living here."
I reflexively turn. Tara stops chewing.
"HUH?" Tara blurts.
"MA? JOINED A COMMUNITY?"
"Yes," Maata says lightly.
"Don't be shocked. Ma was shocked too."
She rests her head back.
"You know Ma—Ma hates gatherings. Small talk. Group photos. Trading updates that end up being flexes about blood pressure and property prices."
I chime in, deadpan.
"Fact."
"But thankfully this community is different," Maata continues.
"It's diaspora moms. They miss home but don't want complications."
Tara squints.
"So what did you do there?"
Maata shrugs.
"Ma did it to prepare for pregnancy. Ma needed some local info."
She pauses, then adds more carefully:
"And Ma's status—an immigrant with a small role in one of the big houses. Husband posted on a site…"
She smirks.
"…a site in Ma's deepest heart. Hahahah."
Tara explodes laughing. I instantly get it. Maata smiles faintly.
"Important enough to be trusted," she says,
"low enough to not be questioned."
I exhale.
Classic Ma.
"Ma doesn't need an identity that makes people curious," she adds casually.
"Just one that makes people comfortable."
Tara looks at Ma with pure admiration.
"That's… safe."
"And efficient," Maata chuckles.
"Next time," she says, lazily,
"Ma will tell you how Ma first met Pa."
She waves a hand.
"Ma so sleepy."
Tara shoots her hand up.
"I'M WRITING THAT DOWN."