“We say about a stinking rich man that he has enough money to feed seven generations without their having to lift a finger.” Vishwajit reclined in his chair. It creaked. The city was under lockdown and there was more time to share his bitterness with his wife than he had ever had.

Aruna nodded. She knew where this opening line was leading. She was snapping the heads and tails off French beans, stringing them and putting them in a colander to be chopped and washed later. There was no hurry. Her office was closed. She didn’t have to cut Vishwajit short because she had to rush through chores. She could let him talk. It made him feel good. That made her feel good. These were peaceful times. Mother-in-law was away in Pune, staying with her younger son, stuck there because of the sudden lockdow

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