Sameer wanted the promotion so badly that he thought about it day and night. An e-mail dropping into his inbox with the title: 'Financial Controller, India'. Congratulatory messages pouring in from Stonewell offices in London and Delhi. An office party at the Imperial, with free-flowing champagne and platters of stuffed mushrooms, galauti sliders, and duck samosas served by waiters dressed in the British-era uniforms of flowing turbans and cummerbunds. Sipping mint garnished lemonade on a Sunday afternoon on the balcony of the company penthouse in DLF Magnolia overlooking the golf course after playing a game with fellow corporate Moghuls. It was all as real to him as if it had already happened.

　　He summoned up these images yet again, while stuck in traffic at Pragati Maidan, on his way home from the office. The driver behind him in the red Maruti Alto, despite being stuck in an obvious rush hour jam, honked away with fervor.

　　What he wanted more than anything else was recognition. Acknowledgment of his loyal twelve years with Stonewell, the last seven as Assistant Financial Controller. Forty three, beginning to grey and still the Assistant Financial Controller. Everyone at the office told him he was the front runner in the race this time. But such decisions were difficult to predict. The name would be announced any day.

　　There was a proliferation of sign boards to his left. 'Geeta Coaching Centre BBA, MBA, BCA, MCA, BE, B. Arch, B. Tech, BScIT, MBBS.' 'Sachdeva School.' 'Indian School.' 'Shiva Coaching Centre.' 'Saraswati School.' It was like they jostled with each other for attention. So Delhi. He smiled. Competitive. Everyone fighting for space, attention. A city of ten million souls wanting, wishing and waiting.

　　At the Chirag Delhi crossing, ten-year-old Imran, a box of magazines and books balanced on his tiny body, threaded his way through the cars to him.

　　Sameer rolled his window down and. shivered in the cold January air. The traffic fumes burned his eyes. Delhi, in winter, smelled like burnt rubber. "Kaisa hai?"

　　"Very fine," Imran responded, in English.

　　Sameer smiled. So, Imran was trying his English on him. "How's school? You go every day?"

　　Imran nodded. Looking through his pile of magazines, he said, "Sir, no new 'Business Standard', or 'Women's Era'."

　　Wearing an oversized coat and a muffler that covered his head, Imran didn't seem bothered by the cold weather, the pungent air, or the cacophony of traffic around him. Under the flyover, beside the posters of Sanjeev Kapur selling Tata salt with a slightly constipated smile, a bunch of ragged children sat around a small fire of wooden planks stripped from discarded packing crates, warming themselves. "Sir, books? Chetan Bhagat, Amish Tripathi, Wolf Hall, Fifty Shades, Narcopolis. Good books, sir. Booker awards."

　　"You know I don't read those big books."

　　Imran flashed his white teeth in a charming smile. "I know."

　　"Sir, you drive car lying down?" Imran laughed, looking at his reclined seat.

　　"Kya karoon. Too tall."

　　Sakeena, Imran's mother, peered from behind Imran. She sold incense sticks on the crossing. "Sahib, one request."

　　"What now?"

　　"His shoes are all torn." She took off one of Imran's shoes to show him. "The other kids make fun of him at school."

　　It was tattered and had a gaping one-inch hole at the top. He reached for his wallet and handed over a five hundred rupee note to her as the traffic light turned green. "But this goes strictly for his shoes, and I want to see them tomorrow."

　　He smiled at Imran. "What color?"

　　"White," he said without a moment's hesitation, flashing his white teeth again.

　　"White," Sameer pointed his finger at Sakeena as he drove away.

　　He reached Panchsheel Enclave a little after eight. There was no one on the street or the park opposite their home. The theme song of 'Yeh Rishta kya Kehlata Hai' rang out from the house next door. Keshav's seventy-six-year-old mother liked her evening soaps at full volume.

　　He parked the car and climbed the stairs to their apartment on the first floor, the coat jacket flung on his arm. Pari, his nine-year-old, was sprawled on the living room sofa, watching TV.

　　"Hi, Daddy."

　　"TV as usual. Homework?"

　　"All done, Daddy."

　　"Where's Mom?"

　　"Don't know." She shrugged her boney shoulders. She hugged him standing up on the sofa, without taking her eyes off the TV. It felt nice to hold her soft body in his arms, but then he let her go back to Hanna Montana.

　　Kavita, his wife, was in the kitchen, an oil stain on her faded cotton top, helping out Ammaji, their long-time help.

　　"Late?"

　　"Traffic."

　　Their conversations were increasingly in mono syllables.

　　"Dinner?"

　　"Later."

　　"Water?"

　　"No."

　　See.

　　When they sat down for dinner, Sameer noticed the vacant fourth chair.

　　Tomato paneer, black daal and rice lay steaming on the table. A dollop of butter melted slowly on the daal. The white paneer pieces glistened in the rich gravy. There was also a bowl of cucumber raita and the lidded box for rotis.

　　"Where's Tania?" He asked Kavita.

　　Kavita negotiated with Pari on the amount of daal Pari had to eat. "She has eaten already."

　　The magenta zircon in the nose ring of the Kathiawadi doll in the china cabinet glinted in the light from the bulb above. The case was full of little curios they had picked up over the years of travels in India. The Malhar musician with a mridang wearing a shiny sea green outfit, a pair of wrought iron deer from Bastar, a wooden Rajasthani miniature window with ledges, pillars and brackets intricately carved on it, and the soapstone elephant from Agra.

　　"Whatever happened to the rule of dinner at the table together?" he said, pushing back the sleeves of the pullover he wore over his kurta-pyjama, and scooping rice into his plate.

　　"Too much," Pari protested at the quantity of food on her plate, "Isn't it too much, Dad?"

　　He winked at her and smiled. "Yes. How can a little girl eat so much?" .

　　Kavita looked at him. "You have to give Tania some space. She's growing up."

　　Tania had turned sixteen last month. Sweet sixteen. Very little sweet about her these days though. Loads of attitude.

　　"You lecture me on not spending quality time with the kids and now you're defending her. Ask her to come. Spend some time with the family."

　　No reaction.

　　"Fine, I will fetch her myself."

　　He pulled back his chair, walked across the hallway and knocked on the door to Tania's room.

　　'Keep out. Danger Zone,' the sign on the door with a skull and two cross bones announced. Of late, it did seem like a danger zone. The marble floor felt frosty and he wished he had worn his slippers.

　　"Yes?" she shouted from inside.

　　Justin Bieber glared at him from the bedside wall as he opened the door. Tania reclined on the quilted bedspread, one hand holding the phone to her ear, the other punching keys on the laptop on her legs. Social busy bee. She had inherited his looks. Tall, the family dimpled chin, the earnest expression.

　　She looked at him.

　　"Dinner. We're all waiting for you." He smiled.

　　"I've eaten already, Dad." The phone was still on her ear.

　　Look at her. Like she has been disturbed in the midst of final discussions on world peace."We always have dinner together. As a family," he persisted.

　　She seemed annoyed, but sensed it wasn't going to be the thirty seconds conversation she had hoped for. Whispering into the phone, she put it away. Her laptop was going crazy with pings. "We don't always have it together. You eat alone in front of the TV when there's a cricket match on. We can't have a rule you enforce only when it suits you."

　　"Come on. I miss you. I barely see you these days."

　　"I am busy, Dad. I have a test tomorrow. I was on phone with Shruti asking her some questions."

　　Back at the dinner table, silence. Pari, who always had plenty to say, knew better than to start any conversation. Kavita was quiet too. The daal lacked salt and he reached for the fancy ceramic salt and pepper shakers they had bought from their visit to China. Black and white, yin and yang, embracing each other. The salt wouldn't come out, as hard as he shook it. He put it back down in frustration.

　　It hadn't always been like this. Dinner used to be a fun occasion. The girls recounted stories of the day, vying for his attention. They raised hands for permission to go first. When Tania spoke, Pari had to wait for her turn. Kavita joined in the fun too raising her hand to get a word in. What had gone wrong?

　　After dinner, he went to Pari's room to tuck her in. Pari lay under the covers, eyes wide open. Pinky, the pink panther soft toy, had her head right beside her on the pillow. She smiled as she saw him entering. When Pari smiled, she lit up the room. Her lips parted lightly, revealing the white of her crooked teeth, a half dimple forming on the right side of her face and the skin around her eyes crinkled.

　　He sat down on the bed and bent to kiss her on the cheek. She smelt of sandalwood soap.er arms went around his neck. "Sleep here today, Daddy."

　　The unoccupied side of her bed was littered with toys and books.

　　He laughed, as he rose to break the knot of her soft arms. "Roz bolti hai even though you know I'm going to sleep in my room."

　　"No harm in trying." She beamed.

　　He switched off the light of the room and tens of constantly moving stars appeared on the ceiling. Pari's nightlight.

　　"Love you, Daddy!" she shouted as he closed the door to her room behind him.

　　"Love you too." In his bedroom, he rubbed his feet together to get the dust off before climbing into the bed. Under the golden glow of the table lamp on her side, Kavita was reading a book with the cover picture of a pretty girl with long wet hair. The closet on Kavita's side was ajar and the rows of hangers with her clothes peeked from inside

　　He said to Kavita. "No news still on the new Financial Controller."

　　Kavita put the book down. She considered him with the faraway look in her eyes she always had when she read, but then didn't say anything. She picked up the moisturizer and rubbed some on the back of her hands. The gold bangles on her wrists tinkled and the fragrance of roses filled the room.

　　He bristled inside as he switched on the TV. Not even a word of understanding. The extra money the promotion would bring in would help the family. Kids' college, their weddings, his retirement. Why was she not interested? She had been his partner, his soul mate. They had comforted and cared for each other. Not any longer.

　　He was also stressed about the business plan meeting scheduled for the following day. Kartik, his deputy, was supposed to review the proposal and prepare financial projections, but had botched up. He had told him at the last minute he hadn't been able to. The finance team would cut a sorry picture. Every little thing mattered these days. The controllership was at stake.

　　He flipped through the TV channels and saw Kavita getting up with her pillow. An ultra-thin cushion she used because of her neck trouble. It was so slim he often wondered why she used one at all.

　　"What?" He addressed her image in the mirror.

　　"Headache. The TV isn't helping. I'll sleep in Pari's room."

　　Sure. Leave me alone when I need you the most.

　　Why couldn't she ask him to switch off the TV? He would. He wanted to talk, to vent, and to be heard. Too much to ask from your wife of eighteen years? This wasn't the first time either. She slept in the girls' rooms often these days. Tania had an exam and didn't want to be alone. Pari needed to talk about a problem at school. What about him? It hadn't done their sex lives any great service either.

　　There were pictures from their wedding on the wall to his left. He sported a moustache those days and was considerably thinner. He liked his present self better. Hair short cropped

a camouflage tactic to avoid attention to the thinning at the top

, height and weight in sync. Kavita's hair was black, her skin lustrous, her eyes sparkling. She barely resembled the grey-haired middle-aged woman who had just left the room. In the pictures, they looked happy. Full of hope for the future.

　　He sighed.