Chapter 2: Goodbye Mausi, Hello Real World

After our parents died in a car accident, my brother and I ended up living with our Mausi.

Her flat always smelled of Dettol and sandalwood agarbatti, and sometimes, over the hiss of the pressure cooker, you could hear the faint cry of a sabziwala drifting up from the balcony. But behind all her careful arrangements, Mausi’s patience with us was as thin as Amul butter. At first, she acted all decent for show, but after I turned eighteen—maybe when the inheritance dried up—she took my eleven-year-old brother to Essel World, lured him with an ice cream, and then vanished without a trace.

Bhai, that day the whole family WhatsApp group went into overdrive—[Prayers for Kabir 🙏] [Beta, God bless you] [Crying emoji spam from random aunty]. Luckily, my sixth sense tingled and I called the police just in time to find him. That was the last straw—whatever relationship we had left, shattered.

When I left the Sharma family with Kabir, Mausi stood by the grill door, arms crossed, all her fake kindness gone, eyes sharp with mockery: "This is your ghar? Try living here, let’s see how long I feed you."

Her fake gold bangles clinked as she pointed, her voice echoing down the corridor. I ignored her, grabbed Kabir’s sweaty hand, and marched out. Just as we passed, the neighbor from 5B peered through her grill, pretending to dust the shoe rack, and the liftman gave us a silent nod—one of those typical building moments where everyone knows your business but no one says a word.

Arrey!

Lift wasn’t working—obviously—so we trekked down five flights, my jhola bag digging into my shoulder, Kabir’s small palm sticky in mine. Everything in this world is fake—except being broke. That’s always asli.

Just then, subtitles flashed before my eyes:

[So villain bachpan se hi aise tha? Always so withdrawn. If he hadn’t gone to Essel World, none of this would’ve happened.]

[Didi, mat karo itna. Ungrateful wolf hai woh, one day he’ll bite you.]

[Seems like villain and his Didi never bonded, warna he wouldn’t regret only after she died...]

Me: "..."

A gust of hot air brought with it the aroma of pakoras frying somewhere, and I realised—whatever people say, this world is ours now. For better or worse.