The news was too much to bear for him.
He came to the lunch hall housing the TV and took out a beedi from his 'plastic sheet' turban, to take one last puff. His hands fumbled as he lit it with a broken match. He inhaled deeply and it was heavenly.
But he could not smoke beedi anymore. It wouldn't do. He stared ahead letting out a cloudy puff and then... smiled.
The lottery ticket in his pocket weighed heavy and he was a crorepathi now. He would have to practice to hold a filter cigarette from now on..
The seconds stretched on and I could no longer hold the pregnancy stick steady. My husband gently took the other end of the stick and together we stared at it, willing it to show us two lines as the box promised to.
"God, please let it be two, please..." my voice echoed off the tiled walls of the bathroom. A squeeze on my hands made me open my eyes and my husband was looking at me with a 'We did it!' smile.
"Well, am pregnant. NOW, can I have some privacy?" shouted the surrogate mother of our child..