Chapter 21
When Manisha opened the front door to the Patel home, the familiar scent of her dad’s cooking instantly filled her nostrils, pulling her back to childhood.
The comforting aroma of spices brought on a deluge of memories: lazy summer afternoons, her dad humming in the kitchen, her brothers chasing her around the living room—the warmth of home.
“Mom, I’m back!” she called out, her words bouncing off the walls. But there was no response.
“Mom?” she called again, stepping further into the house. The heat hit her as soon as she entered, stifling and thick. Despite the scorching Baskin evening, her mom refused to turn on the AC, convinced it made her aching back worse. Some things never changed.
She heard her dad’s voice drift from the back of the house, and she followed the sound.
Unlatching the sliding door, she stepped into the lush garden oasis he had crafted over the years—string lights twinkling around the wooden deck he had built himself, the air thick with the scent of blooming florals and fresh herbs.
“Come, Isha. Your mother’s gone out,” her dad called.
She made her way through the garden, admiring the neatly tended plants.
“The backyard looks sick, Dad!” she called out as she approached him, standing on the deck where he was inspecting a small pot of basil.
“What? Beemaar? Which one looks sick?” he asked, looking up with a furrowed brow.
Manisha laughed. “No, no—sick as in awesome! You’ve got your own little paradise out here.”
Her dad playfully rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You and your modern slang.” He gestured to the bench beside him and she took a seat, feeling the warmth of the sun-soaked wood beneath her.
They sat together for a moment, surrounded by the quiet rustling of leaves, the soft hum of the late afternoon.
“I was just at the temple,” Manisha said, breaking the silence, “helping Rohit plant flowers in honour of his mom. All this time away from Baskin, I had forgotten how close everyone was to Mrs. Khanna.”
Her dad nodded thoughtfully. “She was a pillar of this community. A good woman.”
Manisha glanced at him, remembering something Rohit had said. “Dad, you didn’t tell me you used to help Mrs. Khanna with her garden.”
He shrugged, plucking a blade of grass and chewing on it absently, a habit he’d kept since his childhood on the farm. “We all helped each other. In this community, that’s just how it works. I’d help her with the garden, and she’d often share new recipes with me.”
“So, you were close?”
“We all were,” he said, his voice softening, tinged with respect. “She was the heart of this town for many Indian families. Your mom and I—the whole community—owe a lot to her.”
Manisha nodded, her thoughts drifting to her own memories of Mrs. Khanna—her kindness, the way she always seemed to have time for everyone.
“Rohit’s trying to carry on his mom’s legacy here. You should’ve seen him today, helping in the temple kitchen, then planting flowers in the back garden she’d created…”
She paused, stunned by the words tumbling out of her own mouth.
Clearing her throat, she changed the topic.
“Anyway, I’m taking care of the paperwork for the café like you asked.
It looks like Mr. Khanna wants to do some renovations.
A lot of permits and city regulations to navigate, but I’ve got it covered. ”
Her dad gave her a proud smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
He took another thoughtful nibble of grass, his eyes scanning the garden, as though he could see more than just the plants. He always did have a way of seeing the bigger picture.
“Manisha,” he said after a moment, “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but Mr. Khanna…well, he’s the reason I’m sitting here today, enjoying this garden, this house, all of it. He’s the one who helped me get started—when your mother and I had nothing but dreams.”
Manisha looked at her dad, her heart swelling with emotion. He had always been the steady foundation of their family, the one who kept everything together, but moments like this—when he let his guard down and spoke so openly—reminded her of how much he had sacrificed, how much he had worked for.
“He gave me the chance to build something here,” he said, sweeping his arm across the house and garden.
His tone was quiet but full of conviction.
“By doing that, he helped me build something for all of you. For you, Sanj, and Sammy. You know, not everyone was supportive back then. There were plenty who didn’t think I could make it.
But the Khannas…they stood by me when I needed it most. I can never repay them for that. ”
Manisha’s throat tightened. She turned her eyes to the garden, the flowers blooming in the dimming light like small bursts of hope, like the very legacy her father spoke of.
This was it, she realized. The garden, the house, everything her dad had built was part of something much bigger than just bricks and mortar.
It was a living testament to years of struggle and kindness, of love and hard work.
“Dad, I…” she started softly, her voice thick with gratitude. She swallowed hard. “Thank you. For everything.”
Her father smiled, his eyes filled with a warmth that never failed to make her feel at home. “You don’t need to thank me, Isha. Just…remember what we have here and carry it forward.”
Manisha leaned back against the bench, letting the tranquil air settle around her. With her dad beside her, the familiar sounds of the neighbourhood in the distance, and the beauty of the garden, she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. Everything felt right.
“I know, Dad.”
He nodded, his hands resting comfortably on his knees. “And Rohit is a good young man. Very respectful. He greets his elders in both Hindi and Punjabi. Has good qualities—integrity, kindness.”
Manisha thought about her recent dates, the ones that had felt more like obligations than connections.
“Qualities that are hard to find these days in a man,” she replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make sure Rohit and his dad get those permits filed without any issues. ”
Her dad smiled back at her, a quiet pride in his eyes. “Thank you, kiddo. It means a lot. But listen, I want you to be happy, too. And I know, back in London, you weren’t always so happy…not just with work, but maybe with other things, too.”
Manisha stiffened. It wasn’t that she was trying to hide her struggles—she knew her family could read her pretty well. But hearing it from her dad, in such a straightforward way, made her realize just how much she’d been carrying around in secret, both personally and professionally.
He reached over and patted her head gently. “We taught you kids to be independent, to work hard for what you deserve. You deserve everything in this life, Isha.”
Manisha looked at him, taking in his words. The lines on his face, suntanned and weathered by years of hard work, were now the signs of his experience—of the lessons he’d learned and was passing on to her.
“Times are tougher for you kids now,” he said, his voice soft and full of quiet concern.
“So many distractions, so many things pulling you in every direction. But you’ve got to allow yourself to be pulled back here, too.
” He placed a hand over his chest, his eyes meeting hers with a tenderness that made Manisha’s heart swell.
“You’ve got to listen to where it is leading you, Isha.
To what you truly want, not just what the world tells you to want. ”
Not knowing what to say, Manisha rested her head on his shoulder affectionately.
“You know I love you the most,” her dad said. She could feel his shoulders shake with a chuckle. “Don’t tell your brothers, though.”
Manisha laughed, sitting back up. “Dang, Sanj and Sammy got the short end of the stick.”
He grinned, patting her hand affectionately. “They got your mother’s long stick. That laathi is long enough for everyone to get a smack,” he joked, making her laugh even harder.
“Your mother and I will always ask about your future, beta, it’s in our nature.
We want you to be settled, with a good career, good friends, and yes, one day…
a good life partner. We worry, sometimes, because that’s what parents do.
We want to protect you, keep you safe, and ensure you’re taken care of.
But at the end of the day, you must follow what makes you happy.
Your happiness is all that matters to us. ”
Manisha took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her thoughts pressing against her chest. “I know, Dad. You’re right.
It’s just…sometimes, with work and with Mom constantly asking about everything, I forget what I really want.
And I know I put too much pressure on myself.
But…with Sanj getting married, and now Sammy starting his life with Manny, I can’t help but wonder when it’ll be my turn.
And what if it never happens for me? What if I run out of time? ”
She sighed, feeling vulnerable and unsure, but her father’s presence gave her a small sense of comfort.
Her dad reached over and squeezed her hand gently. “Manisha, beta, please listen to me. Life is not a race. Your turn will come when it is meant to. No rush, no need to worry. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
He looked at her with deep affection, his eyes full of reassurance, as though he could take away all her worries with just his words.
Manisha let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I just wanted to make you and Mom proud,” she said quietly. “I guess somewhere along the way, I lost track of what would make me proud.”
Her dad smiled warmly, his eyes softening with affection. “We’ve always been proud of you, Manisha. And we always will be, no matter what.”
Manisha looked at him, feeling a wave of gratitude fill her heart. “I’m really glad to be home, Dad. I like spending time with you and Mom. Honestly, I need more of these talks with you. Your wisdom—it’s…”
“Sick, right?” he teased, his face lighting up with a playful grin.
Manisha burst out laughing, the weight of the conversation lifting as she caught his infectious sense of humour. “Definitely, Dad. Definitely.”