Dehradun, April 21 -- 'Ping' goes the phone. 'Ping! Ping!' I glance at it lazily and it's The Boy. Like a dutiful, doting mother, I pick up the phone and swipe to see what is so urgent. It's an Instagram alert.
The Boy has sent me three messages in quick succession.
Since it's from The Boy and since I'm a typical Indian mother, I have to go through what he has sent. After all, if he has taken the trouble to send them to me, maybe they are of some significance, so I get to work right away. The first was how Punjabi was spoken by our forefathers before Partition, the second was about the connection between Indian mothers, their sons and the Bata slipper and the third was a random English rap, something about college days.
'Why are you send...