The Truth About Love

chapter fourteen

A/N: the dialogue between the characters in the first part of this chapter is in Nepalese, it should be obvious when it switches to English. There will be several notes throughout the chapter explaining things, hopefully, this will be useful and not disruptive to the flow of your reading

If I could have a penny for every time grandma Laxmi has mentioned how she raised me from when I was a mere embryo till I became a toddler I wouldn't need a medical degree to repay the debt that I owe to my parents. Maybe she thinks that repeating it over and over again will initiate an inundation of flashbacks; perhaps one of her spoon-feeding me Lito and subsequently changing my soiled nappy, or maybe she expects me to be washed over by a strong tide of familial warmth due to finally being reunited with my practically second mother after all these years. But alas, I am void of both the memories and the familial warmth. What I'm feeling towards her is quite the opposite: I'm feeling something more in the range of subarctic temperatures.

A/N: Lito is a puree-like mixture made of up various dry ingredients including flour, nuts and fruits, and water given to babies

The fact that that she greeted me with "I guess it's true that skinny babies grow up to be chubby" probably didn't do her much of a favour. And the fact that she's insulted me seven more times since stepping foot into the house ten minutes ago might also be a contributing factor.

I am now stirring the tea I've been forced to prepare for her, watching the milk in the saucepan start to boil in a similar way that my blood is through my close-to-rupturing arteries.

"Don't stir it so much, I like a bit of skin on my tea and you should've put the tea leaves in by now," she hovers behind me as if she doesn't deem me competent to do a task as simple as making a Nepalese chai.

"Sorry, I'll put it in now," I try not to seethe or do something crazy like hurling the saucepan at the wall.

Once the tea is made to her sky-high standards, I pour it into mum's special teacups making sure that she gets a layer of skin before I get reprimanded again.

I attempt to casually slip away after handing the teacups out but it appears that Grandma Laxmi isn't quite done with obliterating what's left of my patience. Spoiler alert: it's not a lot.

"I got everyone presents! Let me show what I brought for you, Asha." She rips her suitcase open in the middle of the living room which practically erupts as soon as the zips open. I don't know what I'm more curious about: how she managed to zip it up in the first place or how she managed to not exceed the weight limit.

Mum and I are sitting cross-legged watching her in fascination, while dad has gone upstairs to get Ayush who, despite mum yelling up the stairs three times, is yet to make an appearance.

A mountain of items has accumulated on the carpet in minutes: shirts, incense, henna, pashminas- she might as well have boarded the plane with an entire souvenir shop from the heart of Kathmandu. She delves deep in and fishes out a rectangular box, then presents it to me like it's a religious offering.

"I've seen the photos your mother has posted of you on Facebook and thought that you needed this, it's meant to be the best there is and it has super-fast results as well," she beams at me expectantly as if I should be jumping for joy right now.

I look at the box, blink, look at Mum, then blink again.

"Fair and Lovely, wow! I used to wear that cream all the time growing up," mum jabs me with her elbow.

"Thank you so much, boju! I've been looking for whitening cream everywhere, pretty hard to find in England I must say," I say feigning enthusiasm through gritted teeth. I've been gritting my teeth for so long that I fear I've worn away the entire layer of enamel from my top and bottom incisors.