When he was a little boy Shabari’s handwriting was so bad that his mother thought he would become a doctor. Later, when he scraped his knee playing cricket, she dreamt that he would be a sports star. When he watched stunt movies his mother thought he would be a police inspector, when he sang, he would be a great playback singer. Many years later when he became a mediocre accountant in a mid-level company in our city, his mother claimed that Shabari, being perfectly honest and having no bad habits at all, was the most eligible bachelor in the neighbourhood.

She carefully looked for a girl who would bring out the best in him. Because the best in him was yet to come, she said. And that was how she got him married to Anita, who she knew would take care of him.

Then she died happily, and no one understood what she meant when she took her last breath and said: ‘Now it’s up to her.’

Sure enough, Anita took care of Shabari and understood that he had true potential. She knew that he wished to one day own a car (even if second-hand), and for that she knew he needed a better salary….

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