Apulki Chapter 11 – Rotis, Boxers and the Art of Bouncing Back
- Hansa
- Jan 20
- 5 min read
Recap Chapter 10: The Sharmas and Banerjees bond effortlessly, which leaves Isha frustrated. At home, Mr Banerjee struggles with the sacrifices his son's marriage seems to demand of him, while elsewhere in Chimboli, Yamini’s film audition ends in sharp rejection and humiliation.
When Dreams Cry Louder Than Traffic
Yamini stood outside the film studio, crying loudly and unapologetically, as though the rejection had personally insulted her ancestors. Akash hovered beside her on the pavement, unsure whether to offer a tissue or a motivational speech. He chose the latter.
"Don't cry Yammu," said Akash. "That guy is an idiot. He directs cheap B grade movies. What does he know?"
"He said, I won't get a role in a C grade movie even," she said, crying some more and blowing her nose.
“I’ll make your portfolio,” he declared. “I have six hundred percent faith in you. You wait and see. Your dreams will definitely come true one day.”
Yamini sniffed. “Really? You’ll take my pictures?”
“You bet,” he said firmly. “That director is mad. He doesn’t know your worth. If I were in his place, I’d have given you the role just for your smile.”
He leaned closer. “Come on. Smile now. You have such a sexy smile.”
Yamini wiped her tears, adjusted her hair, and smiled.
“That’s better,” Akash said, satisfied, slipping an arm around her shoulder. “So… is Ishu back from Pune?”
“Not yet,” Yamini said. “Tomorrow Neerav’s driving down to meet her parents.”
Akash brightened instantly. “Then let’s go out for dinner tonight. My treat.”
Yamini eyed him suspiciously. “You have money?”
He grinned. “Just got my salary. I’ll be broke in a couple of weeks. Then vada pav zindabad. Till then, let’s enjoy.”
The Great Roti Takeover
In Pune, Mrs Sharma was kneading the dough while Isha stirred something on the stove, wearing the expression of someone who had accepted her fate.
“Is your dad still eating Neerav’s head?” Mrs Sharma asked casually.
“Yes, aunty?” Neerav’s voice floated in from the other room.
“Come, come. Sit down. I’ll serve you hot hot rotis.”
Neerav walked into the kitchen, gently confiscated the rolling pin from Mrs Sharma, and ushered her towards a chair.
“I’ll make the rotis today.”
Isha watched silently as roles reversed with alarming ease.
By the time she laid the table and brought out the salad and vegetables, Neerav was efficiently making and serving rotis like he’d been doing it all his life.
Mrs Sharma stared at the plate in awe. “Such round rotis. Mine still look like distorted maps of India.”
Neerav finally sat down.
“You’re lucky, Ishu,” Mrs Sharma said fondly. “Your husband is such a brilliant cook. At least I’ll never worry that my daughter might go hungry.”
“One more roti, aunty?” Neerav asked.
“No, no. I’ve had enough,” she said, then reconsidered. “Alright. Half.”
Mr Sharma cleared his throat. “Son, Isha tells me you’re not doing anything right now?”
“Actually, uncle,” Neerav said cheerfully, “I’ve taken a year off to practise and participate in MasterChef India. After that, I plan to do a couple of years of internship under a famous chef.”
Mrs Sharma nodded appreciatively. “I like the way you think. So out of the box. Ishu, you could learn a thing or two from him.”
“Sure,” Isha muttered.
Mr Sharma took a bite of food, chewed thoughtfully, and continued. “We were discussing wedding rituals with your parents the other day. Since we don’t know much about Bengali customs…”
He paused, then added, “They were saying the clothes the bride and groom wear on the wedding night come from the girl’s parents.”
Neerav looked up. “Is it?”
“So,” Mr Sharma asked earnestly, “what do you like to wear to bed?”
“Nothing, uncle.”
Isha kicked him hard under the table.
“Meaning?” Mr Sharma asked.
“Frankly speaking,” Neerav said, unfazed, “what’s the point of getting dressed if you have to go to bed?”
Mrs Sharma pressed her lips together, fighting for her life.
“But surely,” Mr Sharma persisted, “you must be wearing something?”
“Boxers,” Neerav said. “That’s all.”
Isha kicked him again.
“Isha beta,” Mr Sharma said mildly, “stop kicking my foot.”
Isha turned scarlet.
Mrs Sharma finally lost the battle and burst out laughing.
Later, as Isha and her mother cleared the table, Mrs Sharma hummed happily.
“Hurry up, Ishu. I want to check out the sari sale. It’s ending tonight.”
“Saris? Why?” Isha asked suspiciously.
“What do you mean why? My daughter is getting married. I want to start shopping for her trousseau.”
“Mum,” Isha said, exasperated, “why are you so happy? Don’t you have anything against this wedding? I mean… they’re Bengalis.”
Mrs Sharma looked offended. “Bengalis are the cream of our country. So intelligent, so artistic. So many famous poets, writers, actors are Bongs.”
“Mum, Neer is none of those,” Isha said. “He’s trying to be a chef.”
“He’s Sanjeev Kapoor in the making,” Mrs Sharma declared. “Mark my words, my son-in-law will be a celebrity chef one day.”
Isha shook her head.
“Didn’t you notice how round his rotis were?” Mrs Sharma continued. “Mine still look like maps of India. And you… you can’t even make maps.”
She mimicked her daughter. “Mum, help. The roti is sticking to the rolling pin.”
Then she softened, taking Isha’s hands in hers. “Don’t worry, my child. Your dad and I are very happy for you. You kids have made things so easy for us. Otherwise we’d have spent ages finding a suitable boy.”
She hugged Isha.
Isha hugged her back, reluctantly.
Validation, Served in an Envelope
At the coffee shop, Isha stirred her cup gloomily.
“Nothing’s going right, Yammu. All my plans are falling flat.”
“Making the parents reject the match was your plan?” Yamini asked pointedly. “And that wouldn’t have hurt Neer?”
“Not as much as rejecting him outright,” Isha said defensively.
Yamini shook her head. “God, Ishu. Your thinking…”
“Whatever,” Isha said. “It didn’t work anyway.”
Akash walked in, dropped an envelope onto Yamini’s lap, pulled up a chair and sat down.
Yamini opened the envelope, pulled out the photographs, and let out a squeal. If she was at home, she would have jumped up and down on the sofa.
“Oh my God. I’m beautiful.”
She grinned sheepishly at Akash. “I mean… you’ve done an awesome job.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he said with a flourish.
Isha’s phone rang.
At the gym, Neerav was on the treadmill, panting and talking into his phone.
“What happened?” Isha asked anxiously. “Why are you panting?”
“I’m on the treadmill.”
“Neer, your voice is breaking.”
“I said I’m in the gym.”
“What? You’re feeling limp?”
“Uff… never mind.”
“I can’t hear you,” Isha said, alarmed. “Let me step outside.”
Something, she felt, was definitely wrong.
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If i had the money to create a film i would definitely make one on this, not one, as many as it would require.
Dinner table convo was rightdown amusing.
Glad to see other side of akash ,and i feel the stirring up of yam and akash.
Hoho we would get to make new ship name 🤣🤣🤣.
Omg the dinner table convo was the highlight of this chapter....i fought so hard not to burst laughing infront of my classmates ahem 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
Ho now this chapter mix of lots of things.
Yamini rejected aakash cheering her up. Going on vada pav. Which btw I have very rarely 😂😂
Hmm ishu plan failing and ahhh map of rotis
Mera abhi bhi pata nahi kis Desh ka map Banta hai 😂😂 can relate to that
Ok neerav in trouble it seems
And comedy err ahem. Nice 😂😂