I woke up as though someone had splashed cold water over my face. How could I have missed such an important information?

I reached for the phone by the side of the bed and called Arjun. It was almost one am.

"You liar! You said, that father left your mother when you were little. But the photograph was clearly taken later than that! So that means, your mother and father were still in a relationship, when he was married to my mom!" I felt so stupid that I had completely put that aside. I mean, didn't everything start with the photograph in the first place?

There was silence on the other side for a while. Then he spoke, not groggily, but quite clear, and in very precise words. "Just go to sleep."

"No. I won't. Everyday, I find out something new. When will this ever end? Will you just explain everything to me? I promise I won't utter a word to anyone. Please, I beg you!"

He remained silent for a few seconds, but repeated the same thing he'd said before. "Would you just go to sleep?"

Frustrated, I hung up the phone, really missing the older days of having a home phone, which you could hang up to your heart's content.

I couldn't sleep after that. It was as if I was in a black room, and I had no idea what I should be looking for. It reminded me of the time when I'd had a really important exam and I'd no idea where I'd kept the hall ticket. Panicked, I'd messed up the whole house in search of it, only for my mother to magically pull it out of nowhere. "Instead of running about randomly, why didn't you just search for it area by area? It's more easier, you know! Look for things with a smaller picture."

--

Shruthi called me the first thing in the morning, the next day. She sounded quite cheerful. "Hey, what's up? Are you free today?"

"Why?"

"There 's this cookery completion. The theme is 'no oil'. You want to come and lend me some support? After that finishes, we could head to the food fair." She said. She was an incredible cook, and always tried to create some new, zany, creative combos. Most of them would come out pretty well. I was always her guinea pig.

"Depends. What are you going to cook? Salad?"

"No. That mango sweet that I made you once, remember?" She said.

"Yes, of course! Who wouldn't? But would that even qualify?" I asked her.

"Yes. Its 'no oil'. And I am using just about every other ingredient other than oil." She said.

"Oh! Will that work?"

"Listen, the key to winning here is to not think like how other people think. Most of them are going to make salad anyway. We've got to stand out, you know!" She said. "So, you coming?"

"I'll come." I said.

"Good. I'll message you the details." She said and hung up the phone.

I walked towards the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of cold water bottle from the fridge. My father was leaning on the counter, reading the newspaper, as usual.

"Good morning, daughter. We haven't chatted for a long time. What's new with you?" He asked me.

Huh? Chat? We'd never chatted, not like other fathers and daughters. Nevertheless, I said, "Good morning."

And nothing's new with me, dad. I just inherited three crore rupees, and I haven't told you yet. 

But you know, nothing much.

"Umm. Nothing much." I said.

"Good. Have you thought about the travel and pilgrimage tour that I told you I was wishing to go? Remember, the one I told you about?"

I felt surprised, for it had been only two days prior when he'd asked me first. It felt as though he knew exactly about my inheritance. If he did, why didn't he just  me about it?Like a normal curious person?

"Sure. Can you give me some more time? Two days, max?" I said.

"Of course." He said. Was it my imagination that we both knew exactly what we were talking about?

"Umm. I have to go. See you later." I said mechanically, and used my work as an excuse to escape from the house, though it was a Sunday.

Despite everything, I felt sorry for him. It would suck having from an almost noble, privileged  and affluent family and ask for money now. All his life, he'd been a giver, not a taker.

It made me wonder why my grandfather hadn't settled him with anything, though apparently he'd provided for everyone. What had prompted him to ignore my father to that extent? How I wished to ask my grandfather, if he were alive today!

Maybe there was a way. My grandmother had died at childbirth, and grandpa had never remarried, involving extensively in charitable activities in her memory. I didn't have any connections with his relations, except for his assistant, Karam,his right hand man, who'd come to my mother's funeral. I didn't know much about him, but he always had a warm smile the few times I saw him.

I walked to the orphanage, and asked them for his address. He lived right next to it.

I knocked on his door, and he opened it, and he looked more older than he'd been in my memory. His face was wrinkled, and his form was slouching.

"Oh! You are..!" He trailed off, surprised, but he led me in.

"Yes. How do you do?" I asked him.

"Quite well, by the grace of your grandfather." He said.

"Hmm. Can I cut right to the chase?" I asked him.

"Yes, my dear."

"Why didn't my grandfather leave my dad any money?" I asked him.

"He did." He said.

"But not much, right?"

"Not much." He agreed. " But there was a reason for it."

"And that was?"

"Young master didn't have the best of reputation, when he was younger. He always used to worry your grandfather." He said.

"So in other words, my father didn't behave the way he was expected of him, right?" I said.

"Yes, correct." He said.

"And that made my grandfather angry, right?"

"Yes."

"So he left almost the reminder of his money to his daughter in law, my mother, who was a model human being, a contrast to his own son." I said.

"He was very fond of your mother. He thought of her as the daughter he never had. He always remarked about what a wonderful, kind person your mother was, and that your father didn't deserve him." He said.

"Oh!"

"I don't know much about the master's private details. But I presume he left your mother a comfortable sum of money." He said.

"Hmm." I said, thoughtfully.

There was something about the story that didn't quite add up. It was too normal, and usual. And it didn't really provide me with any answers.

Then I remembered my mom's words. Look for things in the smaller picture.

And Shruthi's advice. The key to win is to not think like how other people think.

And then I asked him the question I should have asked him at the beginning.

"What about you?"