Excerpt from Seeking Fortune Elsewhere by Sindya Bhanoo, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The Sharmas and the Venugopals are sipping gin and tonics. Dr. Venugopal summons the mobile bartender with his fully stocked cart for me. I order a fresh lime soda. Alcoholic drinks cost extra, and I do not like to waste money.

After listening to me describe the way Mr. Swaminathan fell, how his face drooped on one side, how his speech slurred as he said his wife's name, Dr. Venugopal declares that it was most certainly an ischemic stroke, not a hemorrhagic one.

"Absolutely," he says.

He seems thrilled to have determined this. He has a sharp, well-shaped gray beard and a mustache of the same color. His right finger goes towards his mustache and I expect him to pet it thoughtfully, but instead he points directly at me.

"Rare for a stroke to be fatal. I wonder if there were other complications. Head injury perhaps?" he asks, almost accusingly.

I explain the fall, how gentle it was.

"Humph," he said. "Still, that concrete. So hard."

"He fell into my hands," I say. My face grows hot. Mrs. Sharma is looking at me with curiosity and I feel I have made a confession I should not have.

"I see," Dr. Venugopal says.

A waiter dressed in white comes around with spicy red dal. The Venugopals and Sharmas allow him to ladle some into the small stainless-steel bowls on their plates. I put my hand over mine to indicate that I do not want any.

"Such a genuinely nice couple they were," Mrs. Sharma says. "Imagine losing your husband like that."

She looks at me, a soloist among two couples, and says, "What I meant to say was, so suddenly."

Such comments don't upset me these days.

"It is lonely, but life goes on," I say, smiling.

Mrs. Sharma nods enthusiastically, relieved. The curls in her coiffed bob nod with her. Out of consideration, I change the subject.

"You look nice this evening," I say to Mrs. Venugopal. She is wearing a sleeveless block-print salwar kameez.

"Come shopping with me," she says. "I bought the material at Badshah. And I have a fabulous tailor."

I know she does not mean it. She sees how I dress. I wear ordinary clothes, and rarely buy new things. In any case, I would not spend my money at a place like Badshah.

"Better for the younger generation. Kamala might like to go," I say. "Though I suppose she isn't so young anymore."

The polite thing would be for Mrs. Venugopal to say that her daughter, Padmini, is also not so young, but she keeps silent and I feel like I have betrayed my child.

"Fantastic chicken korma today," Mrs. Sharma says, as she mixes it with her rice. She looks at the Fitbit on my wrist. "New gadget?"

"A present from my daughter," I say. "It counts your steps. Kamala says I must aim for eight thousand a day."

"We golf," Mrs. Sharma says. "We get plenty of exercise from that. No need to track it."

"Yes," I say.

In old age, status is tied to health, what you can do with your body and what you can't. Or sometimes, what you say you can do.

"Padmini bought Fitbits for us also. They want us to live long lives, don't they?" Mrs. Venugopal says.

"For what, I want to ask," Dr. Venugopal says, leaning forward. "For them?"

"Our son only visits every other year from California," Mrs. Sharma says.

"Padmini hardly comes," Dr. Venugopal says. His eyes catch mine and I see something childlike in them, something sorrowful. "I need another drink," he says.

"She is so busy," Mrs. Venugopal says. "This year she was promoted to director."

"But you know," Dr. Venugopal says, his voice a hush, "Renuka is moving." His eyes search my face. "Did you know?"

"No," I say, but immediately I understand. It happened often to widows and widowers. She was moving abroad to join her children.

"Where to?" I ask. "Germany with her daughter, or Australia with her son?"

From Seeking Fortune Elsewhere by Sindya Bhanoo. Used with permission of Catapult. Copyright © 2022 by Sindya Bhanoo.

This story was originally published in Granta magazine.