what kind of place would want their initials to be KKK?

anyhow, that’s where i am with faathumaafulhu. we’ve just arrived at fort kochi, kerala, and faathuma is ravenous and stunned by the fort’s cool colonial vibe. a european spirit must prevail over things for faathuma to be impressed by them.

‘that’s not fair at all,’ she says. ‘oh, look, some stupid white people.’

a white couple are feeling up fabrics in a shop. we pass by them and enter the kochi kapital kafe where i’d made a dinner reservation. seriously, who thinks it’s a good idea?

i order a mango lassi and a veg burger. faathumaafulhu gets a watermelon juice, the only fruit she can stand, and rice with creamy mushroom sauce.

‘i don’t like the server here,’ i tell her. ‘he seemed so servile.’

‘i’m so hungry,’ she says. ‘can you give me some wifi?’

‘you’ve almost eaten up my daily allowance,’ i say.

‘come on dhombe, don’t be so greedy.’

‘greedy? i’m treating you to dinner.’

‘yeah, but with dad’s money.’

‘it’s not his when it’s in my account.’

‘just gimme.’

‘fine,’ i say and turn on the hotspot.

soon our plates are placed on the table. i have a bite of my sister’s food. the rice is spicy and the creamy sauce acts as a good counterpoint.

‘what do you think?’ she asks.

‘i like. you have a go.’

she does and makes a face.

‘it’s too rich,’ she says. ‘i don’t think i can eat all of it, to be fair.’

‘to be fair to whom?’

‘how’s your burger?’

‘it’s OK,’ i tell her. ‘i don’t care for the pattie too much but the rest is good.’

‘but that’s the most important bit!’

‘i know. i like the fries very much though, to be fair.’

‘shut up.’

‘how are the mushrooms?’ i ask. ‘are they from a can?’

‘not too great. oh, the mushroom soup i had at the resort was so good. they’d pureed eighteen different kinds of mushrooms for the sauce and oh my god, it was a FEAST.’

‘sounds like a massacre,’ i say, setting her up.

she’s always going on about how good the food is where she works. but it IS a pretty rad place i have to admit.

‘a massacre of mushrooms. haha,’ says my slow syster. ‘isn’t it nice to be here? aren’t we glad to be here dhombe?’

‘it is. i want to come here for the biennale.’

‘what’s that?’

‘it’s an arts festival and you meet crazy goons from all over the world. i came a few years back.’

‘yeah? did you like it?’

‘loved it.’

the bill isn’t too hefty and we walk out into the cobbled street – i wait by the entrance while my sister vapes. it’s a pleasant night, quiet, and the shops are lit up with fairy lights for the festival. soon, a large black dog trots up to me and begins sniffing my shoes.

‘begone, balhlha,’ i say.