Chapter One #2
“You did the right thing.” Puppa tipped his tea into a saucer, blew on it, and took a loud, slurping sip. “A daughter’s place is with her parents until she marries or…” He hesitated, his voice trailing off.
“Or what, Puppa?” Priya placed her cup down and met his gaze. “Go on, say it.” When he remained silent, she sighed. “Divorce. It’s not a bad word, you know.”
“Of course not, beta.” Puppa patted her hand.
“When we came to Canada thirty years ago, no one spoke about these things openly, especially not in our community. But times have changed. This isn’t the future we wanted for you, but your happiness is all that matters.
So, tell us…” He leaned back in his chair.
“After five years together, what really happened between you and Manoj? You’ve said so little. ”
The lights suddenly flickered overhead, throwing brief shadows around them, but Priya barely reacted. Growing up at Moksha, she was used to its oddities—the strange groans of the pipes, the unexplained drafts, the way certain rooms always felt colder than the rest.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said before popping the last piece of her rotli in her mouth. She gave herself a moment to swallow before answering. “We just wanted different things in life.”
“But you had so much in common.” Puppa’s voice tinged with disbelief. “Same caste, same background, same profession. He didn’t drink, didn’t gamble. A good boy from a good family. You know we would never have approved otherwise.”
And that’s exactly why I married him, Priya thought.
Not because I loved him, but because it made sense.
Marrying a man who checked all your boxes was the only way to claim my freedom.
It was my permission slip to stay in Calgary after university and build a life of my own.
But these were words she’d never say aloud to her parents.
“Did he mistreat you?” Mumma asked. “Did you fight? Argue?”
“No, and we didn’t really fight. Just the normal ups and downs.”
Mumma flung her hands up. “Then what?”
Priya sighed. “Not fighting doesn’t mean a marriage is happy.”
“But it’s a start.” Mumma placed another rotli on her daughter’s plate. “A peaceful home is a good home.”
Priya nodded, tracing the edge of the rotli with her fingers.
If her parents knew the truth of their “good home,” the gossip would spread like wildfire, and she didn’t want Manoj to shoulder all the blame.
His affair had ended the marriage, yes, but it wasn’t the cause of their problems. It was a symptom of what had been missing all along.
“Well, everything happens for a good reason,” Puppa declared, clapping his hands together as though closing the matter.
Once again, the lights flickered overhead.
“It’s getting worse,” Mumma said, turning to Puppa. “You still haven’t heard from the bank?”
“They called yesterday.”
“And?” Mumma pressed.
“We can talk about it later,” he said, patting her hand. “Let’s not ruin Priya’s homecoming.”
“What’s going on?” Priya glanced between her parents.
“We live in an old building,” Puppa explained. “It’s always one thing or another. Nothing to worry yourself about.”
“Then why is the bank involved?”
Puppa looked away, and Mumma fidgeted in her seat.
“Well?” Priya prompted.
“The wiring is outdated,” her father finally said with a sigh. “The fuse boxes keep shorting. We have to replace everything to bring Moksha up to code—new wiring, outlets, circuit breakers…The entire electrical system. It’s a big job, so I applied for a loan.”
Priya’s stomach dropped. The look on Puppa’s face said it all. The loan hadn’t been approved. He took a deep breath before speaking. “If we don’t make these upgrades, we won’t be able to keep the business running.”
“You’ll lose the funeral home?” Priya felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. As much as she’d always wanted to escape Moksha, she knew the significance it held for her parents. It wasn’t just their home—it was the heart of who they were and what they stood for.
“We have three months to make the repairs,” Puppa said. “We’ll find a way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.
“We were hoping the loan would come through,” Mumma said quietly. “We didn’t want to worry you or your sisters for no reason.”
A pang of regret twisted in Priya’s stomach. She’d been so caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t known what her parents were going through.
“I have some savings,” she said. “It’s not much, but Manoj is buying me out of the company, so I’ll have more once that’s finalized. I’ve also picked up some freelance work. I can help you bridge the financing—”
“Out of the question,” Puppa interrupted, placing his hand over Priya’s.
“Thank you, but we don’t need your money, beta.
You have come home for a bigger purpose.
Don’t you see? The timing is no coincidence.
Moksha has a way of calling those it needs.
This is your time to step in, to start taking over some of the responsibilities, so you can take over one day. ”
Priya stared at her parents, her hand frozen beneath Puppa’s. “Are you serious? You think I’ve come home just to drop everything and step into this…role you’ve carved out for me?”
“We’re not asking you to drop anything, Priya,” Mumma said gently. “But you have nothing tying you down right now. This is your chance to start over, to find purpose and do something meaningful.”
“Meaningful to who?” Priya pulled her hand out from under her father’s.
“Just because I’m divorced, between jobs, and don’t have any kids doesn’t mean my life is without meaning.
” Her words tumbled out, faster and sharper.
“I haven’t even unpacked, and you’re already dragging me into the business.
I didn’t come home to be a cog in a wheel that’s been turning in our family for generations—the same damn wheel that’s been grinding me down my whole life. I’m not going to let it crush me too!”
“Ey!” Puppa wagged his finger in warning.
It didn’t matter what came after Ey. Puppa’s Ey was enough to bring Priya to a screeching halt.
“We are Dalit, Priya. The funeral home is not just our generational occupation. It is our karmic undertaking and duty.”
“Those are your beliefs, Puppa. You and Mumma have built your entire lives around them, and I respect that, but you can’t force them on me.
” Priya tried to control the volume of her voice.
“To me, Moksha is a business, not a divine mission. It needs money, resources, time, attention. Even if I agree to take over, what happens when we can’t pay for the repairs it so obviously needs? ”
Her parents shared a glance across the table before Puppa pushed his chair back and stood. Retrieving his address book from the drawer next to the sofa, he pulled out an envelope from its pages and handed her the papers inside.
Priya’s eyes widened as she scanned the document.
“An offer from a land developer to buy the funeral home?” She glanced at her parents.
“This is a lot of money. You wouldn’t need a loan to keep Moksha running.
” Her heart began to race. “You could sell, retire, and never have to worry about finances again,” she said, her voice bright with excitement.
“Read it properly,” Puppa urged. “They want to build condominiums here.”
“So?” Priya’s brows furrowed. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
Puppa shook his head. “Moksha is the only funeral home in the area run by a Hindu family, Priya. We welcome people of all faiths, but it’s our duty to provide the last rites and rituals for our community.
When I was a boy in Gujarat, my father upheld that responsibility, and my grandfather did the same before him.
Your mother and I may have moved to another country, but we can’t shed our caste or the responsibility that goes with it. ”
Priya drew in a measured breath. “It always comes down to that. Tradition, duty, obligation…” Her gaze shot to her father, eyebrows raised. “Don’t tell me you rejected it?” She nodded toward the offer.
“Not yet, but I will do whatever I can to keep Moksha going.”
“And you’re okay with this?” Priya turned to her mother.
“Of course. Your father is right. It’s one thing if we had no other option, but we still have time to find a solution. We can’t just run from our karma. And neither can you. You’re part of the same lineage, Priya, and no matter how far you run, fate will always pull you back.”
“And Meghna and Deepa?” Priya countered. “Are you saying they’re going to end up here too?”
“Your sisters will always be tied to this place. It’s in their blood, same as you.” Mumma’s words carried a quiet certainty.
A heavy sigh built in Priya’s chest. Her parents still saw the world through the lens of a caste system that had been abolished over seventy-five years ago.
To them, caste dictated everything from what kind of work you were expected to do to who you could marry to your place in the world.
And because their family was Dalit—considered so low they weren’t even counted within the hierarchy—Priya’s parents made sure their daughters understood it from an early age.
Don’t reach too high.
Don’t think too big.
Don’t dream beyond your station.
But Priya had always wanted more. More than quiet obedience.
More than a future shaped by the past. She wanted to break the cycle—for herself and for her sisters.
A life beyond inherited limits. A life where they weren’t just surviving but growing, flourishing, thriving.
But now, sitting around the table with her parents, she held her tongue.
This was not a war of words; it was a clash of perspectives, both sides digging in with no intention of waving a white flag.
As she sipped her tea, a notification flashed on her phone. “It’s Brooke,” she announced, reading the message. “And she’s on her way over.”
“Here? Right now?” Mumma exclaimed. “What will we feed her?”