And when I laughingly said "haa," my atha and mavaiya came to.
Atha asked, "Enti, maatladeskuntunnaru miru? Maku vinipiyakunda?"
(What are you both talking about without letting us hear?)

I replied, "Insta unda ani adugutunna atha, anthe."
(I'm just asking if he has Instagram, that's all.)

She said, "Modhalpettesave appude... ni matalu apavuga."
(So you already started... I know you won't stop talking now.)

And my mama, who was on Arvind's side, said,
"Enti, na bangaru thallini ekkuva maatladaku antunnava?
Entha mudhuga maatladatunte vodhu antav enti?
Asala first nuvvu laddu tiskoni side ki velipo."
(Why are you telling my golden girl not to talk? She's speaking so sweetly and you're telling her to stop? First you give blessings and step aside.)

Then bending slightly towards me, he added softly,
"Em parledu mi athani annadhi vadilesi...miru matladukondi...
Miku idhe kadha time."
(It's okay dear, you talk... this is your time.)

After that everyone came, gave blessings, akshanthalu vesaru.
And in the small gaps between people, we both kept talking.

Arvind said,
"LinkedIn vaduthanu nenu.
Naaku ekkuva time undadhu. Maa time lo Insta raledhu kadha,
anduke ippudu download cheyyaledu."
(I use LinkedIn more. I don't get much time, and during my college days Insta wasn't that famous, so I never bothered downloading it.)

I said, "Parvaledu andi, nenu mamulgane adiga... unda Leda ani."
(It's okay, I just casually asked whether you have it or not.)

And he said,
"Ayyo Devika...
Naaku kuda matladali, adagali ane undi...
Kani ni matalu inkaa Bagunnay ani vintunna."
(Oh Devika... I also feel like talking, but your words sound even more beautiful, so I'm just listening.)

Hearing that, I was startled.
Alaanti matalu vinnaka evaraina ala vundipotharu kadha...
alane nenu aagi, konchem siggu padi poyanu —
again becoming a red tomato.

In between, nanna came and said,
"Amma, panthulugaru vasthunaru anta.
Andaru bhojanam chesesaru...
thanu nuvvu kuda thinneyandi randi."
(The priest said he'll be here shortly, everyone finished lunch... you both also come and eat.)

I stood up and asked,
"Nanna... mari miru tinnara?"
(Did you eat, nanna?)

He replied,
"Nuvvu pettakunda thinatana nenu?"
(Will I ever eat without you?)

That line made me stop in my tracks.
I quickly linked my hands around his arm and said,
"Ha, padhandi nanna... naku kuda Akali vesthundi."
(Okay let's go, I'm hungry too.)

When we entered the dining hall,
I tied a knot with my chunni and suddenly realised
—I forgot to ask Arvind to come with us.

I turned back and saw him silently walking towards us.

Hesitantly, I said,
"Haa Arvind... miru kuda kurchoni.
Nēlenu vadisthanu."
(You also sit, I'll serve.)

I took out mine and nanna's silver plates
(because honestly, I forgot that everyone was already there).
So I gave my plate to Arvind while nanna went to wash his hands.

Arvind said,
"Devika, nuvvu kuda kurcho."
(You also sit.)

I replied,
"Ha kurchunta... nanna ki pette si.
Miru ikkade vunnaruga, so miku kuda vadisthanu."

And he pulled a chair for me,
with that loud kiiiiiiiiii sound
which made everyone turn towards us.

He placed the plate in front of me and said,
"Kurcho... em parledhu.
Anthakakpothe nene vadisthanu"
(It's okay, sit. If it's difficult, I will serve.)

Nanna noticed this while drying his hands with a towel...

And my atha came running and snatched the plate and spoon from Arvind.
Because if my ammamma—who had gone to feed the stray cats—came back and saw this,
she would rip the house into two pieces:

"Ammo ammo!
Enti idi? Abbaini vadimantunara?"

People from Telugu households will know...
older women have a whole dramatic syllabus about
how men "shouldn't cook", "shouldn't serve", blah blah.

But the funniest part is—
my own ammamma used to be fed by my grandfather!
Now if I say this, she'll break my skull
so better I stay silent.

My atha said,
"Babu, mi idharu agandi .
Nenu pedthanu.
Vatinii vidileseyandi."
(You both stop. I'll serve. Leave them.)

And now she started her partiality mode.

She brought Kakinada Kaja, my favourite sweet.
My pedhananna had brought it specially from Kakinada.
There was only two piece left.

She gave it to nanna...
and Arvind.

I said,
"Mari... naku?"
(What about me?)

She said,
"Aipoyayi."
(It's over.)

Nanna said,
"Ammu, parvaledu... idi tinu."
(You take this, dear.)

I whispered,
"Nanna... naku tinali ani undi,
Kani ni deggara tiskunteeee...
atha looks ichesthundi."
(I want to eat, but she's giving those looks... I shouldn't take it from you.)

And suddenly, Arvind from the side
placed his sweet in my hand and said,

"ammu... idigo. Thinu. Alagaku."
(Here, eat. Don't make a fuss.)

I turned to him like,
"Whatttt?"

Even nanna and atha turned,
because no one ever spoke to me like that.

ante nijam cheppalante... evaru kuda natho ala matladaledu appativaraku.
nenu intlo chinnadhi kadha.
paiga ammamma ki chinna manavaralini nenu.

(To be honest... no one had ever spoken to me like that before. I was the youngest at home, and also my grandmother's youngest granddaughter.)

andharu nenu em adigina, entha allari chesina,
"sare le" ani navvukune vallame.

(Whatever I asked, however mischievous I was, everyone just laughed it off.)

"ila cheyaku", "alagaku" ani gattiga cheppina vallu kuda leru.

(No one ever strictly told me not to do something.)

alaanti nannu... okesari thanu ala anesarki
oka second ki shock ayya.

(So when she suddenly said it like that, I was shocked for a moment.)

kopam ani kaadhu kani
just vinthaga anipinchindi.

(I wasn't angry, not even hurt... it just felt strange.)

And giving the sweet, Arvind said directly to nanna,

"Uncle... nenu indhaka andharu mundhu cheppanu kadha.
Kani ippudu miku particular ga cheppali ani vundi.
Endukante Devika ante miku entha istamo ani naku kanipisthundi.
Paiga intlo thanani andharu chuskunedi kuda telusthundi anduke miku direct ga matladi cheppali anpisthundi."

(Uncle... I already said this in front of everyone earlier.
But now I wanted to tell you personally.
Because I can clearly see how much you love Devika.
And that's why... I want to tell you .)

Nanna with smile and happiness which is seen all over his face said

Haa babu cheppu
(Yes, you can say dear)

Devika naku nachindi
(I like Devika )