After dinner, they stepped out of the restaurant into the cool Marina night.
The lights reflected beautifully on the water. For a few seconds, Bani stood still, taking it in. This wasn't a vacation. This was life now.
Grandmother was tired, so they didn't walk much. They slowly returned to the temporary apartment in Dubai Marina.
Inside, everyone moved quietly.
Milk was kept ready for the morning. The flowers were checked once again in the fridge. Pooja items were arranged in a small cover so nothing would be forgotten.
"Sleep early," Bani's father said. "Tomorrow is important."
And slowly, the apartment lights went off one by one.
The Next Morning – Entering the New Home
The morning sunlight felt different — softer, calmer.
After tea and getting ready, they loaded their luggage into a taxi and headed toward their apartment in Jumeirah Lakes Towers.
As the taxi entered the area, grandmother again looked up at the tall towers surrounding the lakes.
"Everything is so tall here," she whispered.
Bani smiled. "So our dreams should also be tall."
Her father heard that — and didn't say anything, but his eyes softened.
Outside the New Apartment
When they reached the building, everything was already set inside. Basic furniture, cleaned floors, empty kitchen shelves — waiting to become theirs.
Before unlocking the door, Bani's mother placed a small turmeric mark near the entrance.
Her father handed the keys to grandmother.
"You open first," he said gently.
Her hands trembled slightly — not from weakness, but from emotion.
She unlocked the door.
The Pooja
They entered slowly.
Shoes removed.
Silence.
Bani's mother arranged the flowers, lit the diya, placed turmeric and kumkum neatly. The small bell sound echoed softly in the empty apartment.
Grandmother chanted familiar slokas. The same prayers she had said for years in the village… now echoing between tall concrete walls in a foreign country.
Milk was boiled in a small vessel until it overflowed slightly — a sign of abundance.
Her father folded his hands.
"Let this house bring peace. Let my children grow here. Let my mother feel at home."
Bani stood quietly, eyes closed.
This wasn't just entering an apartment.
It was entering a new life.
After the pooja, everyone stood in a small circle and drank the plain milk mixed with sugar. It was simple, sweet, and symbolic — the first thing consumed in their new home in Jumeirah Lakes Towers.
The sweetness felt like a blessing.
Kitchen Comes Alive
Bani's mother didn't waste time.
She immediately began setting up the kitchen — arranging rice in containers, placing lentils on shelves, keeping spices within reach. Everything had its place within minutes. Years of managing a household had made her movements efficient and precise.
Since most things were already set in the apartment, there wasn't heavy work to do. So she quickly moved to preparing lunch.
"Keep the cooker ready," she told Bani.
Rice went into one vessel. Dal was set to boil for sambar. Tamarind soaked in warm water.
Meanwhile, grandmother sat near the counter, calmly peeling and preparing vegetables. She didn't move fast — but she didn't need to. Her presence itself felt grounding.
Bani took over chopping the green beans once her mother got busy with the stove. The rhythm of knife against board echoed softly in the new kitchen.
The Quick Cooking
Her mother worked like clockwork.
First, she pressure-cooked the dal while rice simmered beside it. Tamarind pulp was extracted smoothly and added at the right moment. The sambar masala blended into the boiling mixture, filling the apartment with a comforting aroma that instantly made the foreign space feel like home.
For the beans palya, she heated oil in a pan. Once hot, she added the tempering — tiny seeds crackling, lentils turning golden, curry leaves spluttering beautifully. The fragrance rose immediately.
She tossed in onions and crushed garlic, sautéing them until soft. Then the chopped beans went in, along with spices and green chillies. She stirred confidently, adjusting salt without measuring — purely by instinct.
A handful of roasted groundnuts added crunch. Fresh coconut and coriander at the end brought freshness and balance.
All this happened quickly — no confusion, no delay. Years of experience had trained her hands to move faster than thought.
On the other stove, she prepared soft ragi mudde especially for her husband and mother-in-law — shaping them perfectly with practiced palms.
Last but not least, she whisked fresh majjige (buttermilk) — cooling, light, and necessary after a meal like this.
The First Meal
Soon, plates were served.
Rice with hot sambar.
Beans palya on the side.
Ragi mudde for father and grandmother.
A glass of majjige to finish.
As they sat on the floor and ate together, grandmother took a bite and smiled faintly.
"Now it feels like house," she said.
Bani looked around the apartment.
Tall towers outside. Foreign land. Different world.
But inside — the smell of sambar, the sound of tempering, the taste of majjige.
Home had arrived.
After lunch, the apartment grew quiet in a different way.
Not the nervous quiet of the night before.
Not the sacred silence of the pooja.
This was the quiet of belonging.
The vessels were washed. The kitchen counters wiped dry. The faint smell of sambar still lingered in the air, mixing gently with the cool breeze slipping in through the balcony door.
Grandmother lay down on a thin mattress in the living room, her arm resting over her eyes.
"I will sleep for ten minutes," she said.
Everyone knew it would be at least an hour or two.
Bani stepped out onto the balcony alone.
From their apartment in Jumeirah Lakes Towers, the view stretched wide — glass towers, quiet roads, and a glimpse of the still water below. The afternoon sun reflected sharply off the buildings, but the wind was cool.
Somewhere below, a child was laughing.
A delivery bike passed.
Life was moving.
She leaned against the railing.
Yesterday, she had stood at Dubai Marina looking at lights on water. That felt cinematic.
This felt real.
This balcony would see her morning coffees. Her late-night overthinking. Her silent tears. Her victories. Her calls home. Her ambitions.
She inhaled deeply.
"So our dreams should also be tall," she whispered to herself again.