“Unbelievable!” Sumana muttered, glaring at the billboards lining the highway—a band promising an unforgettable experience!

Mistaking her sarcasm for shock, the taxi driver nodded solemnly, “Yes, very tragic!”

A chill prickled her skin as she tapped her iPhone. The screen lit her face as the car sped on the highway.
 

***

Sumana lived by rules.

Dinner at eight, in silence.

No guests on weekdays.

Lights off by ten, even on Durga Puja.

The list went on.

Her life mantra was: It’s my way or the highway.
Anyone who didn’t follow it had stumbled—or rather, been kicked—out of her life.

Born into generations of lawyers and now singlehandedly running Chatterjee & Co., a firm established by her great-grandfather Soumendranath during British rule, she had a legacy to uphold.

“Ma?”

Sumana continued eating, ignoring the sound as if it were not her only son but a nuisance.  

“MA!”

She winced when her eyes met his. Everything about him repulsed her. Unruly hair, bracelets, the torn T-shirt, the drawl. Everything!

“How much?”

“God, no! Why can’t we have a normal conversation—like other families?”

“Because we aren’t like others, Soumendranath.”

“Sow. I go by Sow. You know that. Stop calling me by that hideous name.”

“That name is part of who you are.”

Sow rolled his eyes. “That name and the profession… it isn’t me. I wanted to pursue music after school, but you forced me into law. I gave it four years. That’s enough!”

“You want to be a troubadour instead?” Her shrill voice rose.

“Don’t be dramatic. I want to start my own band.”

“No! You can’t do this to me. To us.” She swept her hand across the large room, toward the wall of sepia-toned family portraits. “You owe it to us—to carry on the Chatterjee name.”

“Or else?” Sow stood up, his lean frame now towering over hers.

Her blank expression said everything.

“I got it,” he whispered. “I’ll take the highway.”
 

***
 

That was twelve years ago.

Now she sat beside a hospital bed, staring at the pale, motionless figure on it. His shoulder and neck bandaged. His face, bruised.

On her request, the driver had tracked down where he was admitted and brought her there. She was surprised when he refused any extra payment, despite the 20 km detour.

“Ma’am?” A bespectacled doctor stood beside her. “The stage collapsed. He suffered multiple fractures.”

“W-w-will he be fine… can he play the guitar? And sing?”

“It’ll take time, but, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Later that night, she jerked awake when someone squeezed her palm.

“Ma? Am I dreaming?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” She tried to sound firm, but her tears betrayed her.

“Ma, I wanted to call, but—”

“I know, I did too…” she stroked his forehead.

Sow’s eyes fluttered shut. Just as he drifted off, her words stirred the silence. Her eyes twinkled with pride. “Sow, your band seems popular.”

He smiled faintly. “Has to be... After all, it’s Chatterjee & Co.”