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their business. The business of procreating and raising babies. It is as if a marriage is complete only if a child is produced.
    Mom calls as usual when I am on my way to work.
    I speak to her every single day. If she doesn’t call, I do. The routine never varies. It is as though her breast cancer was brought upon us to make us realise how very fragile life can be.
    ‘So, Shruti, changed your mind yet?’ she asks.
    ‘About what, Ma?’ I feign ignorance.
    ‘You know, you should never delay such things, Shruti. The older you are, the harder it will become to conceive. Certain things have to be done at a certain age. You are gambling with your fertility and your baby’s health.’ She is armed today with arsenal that can down me.
    But I am prepared too. I have my own load of ammunition ready.
    ‘Well, Ma, do you know of Madonna, the singer? She had her baby at thirty-eight. And Halle Berry—she became a mother at forty-one,’ I retort.
    ‘Shruti, all these are foreign celebrities. They are different. Look at the Indian film stars. Most of them quit movies when they get married. You should have a child, it is what makes a family complete.’
    There is no point arguing with my mother. We will only go around in circles. I certainly do not want to quit my career and raise children, just because some Indian movie stars have done so.
    ‘Look Ma—I cannot, and do not, want to emulate a Bollywood star. I just want to go to work and come home and lead my life. Why do you keep talking to me about this?’ I ask, now a little irritated.
    She is quiet for a few seconds and I immediately feel contrite.
    ‘Okay, you know best. I won’t bring this up again,’ she says in a quiet voice and I know she is hurt.
    ‘Oh, Ma—I didn’t mean it that way. Look, I am sorry. Let’s not talk about this, okay? When we decide to have a baby, you will be the first to know, okay?
    I am glad that there is no one I know in the bus to overhear my conversation as I am one of the first to get on. Asha, my colleague from the finance department, travels in the same bus but she gets on only after about five stops. Till then I usually sit alone. Today, I am thankful that we all have our ‘fixed places’ in the bus, much like school, and nobody changes them. So till Asha gets in, I have a lot of time (and privacy) to contemplate. And that is just what I do after I hang up.
    I think about how my mother’s breast cancer has changed her life and thrown mine on a path I never planned or envisaged. I cannot blame her though, for subtly pressuring me to have a child. After all, I have been quite a handful for them and I still recall the relief on their faces when I finally agreed to marry Rishabh.
    I still have mixed feelings about all of it and have dealt with it by not dwelling too much on it. My mother’s cancer was a rude jolt that catapulted all of us into unfamiliar territory. After all, cancer isn’t easy to fight. My mother is a very brave woman. She had gone for a routine check-up and the doctors found a lump and advised a lumpectomy. But when they operated on her, they discovered a tumour which was twice the size that the scans had detected. So instead of taking out just one affected lymph node, they had to take out eight infected ones. Then there were rounds of chemo, radiation and further investigations. A shudder passes through my body as I recall that period of my life.
    I do not know if my relationship with Aman fell apart because of my mother’s cancer or not. All I know is that I was in no frame of mind to fight my parents then.
    My mother had to finally go in for a mastectomy. The doctors had said it was absolutely essential to eliminate all risks and to ensure its total eradication. I remember the relief washing over me when she had finally come home. She had hugged me and we had both wept and wept. My mother never saw mastectomy as an inconvenience. If there was any sadness, she hid it well. I think it was I who had cried. My