Ramma insisted that she prepare dinner that evening; she liked being useful. Smells from Sandhya's childhood soon filled the room. Rama was cooking a familiar meal–daal, bhaat and bhaji. This used to be mum's favourite. ​

​​

'Perhaps she misses her too.' It was a passing thought but enough to remind Sandhya of her grieving heart.

​​​​​​​​

She sat down at the kitchen table and watched Ramma cook. Sandhya and Sean had never stayed long enough in one place to consider owning or leasing a domestic helper. These were still fairly novel technologies, so a bit slow and suited mostly as aids to elderly people. It was the first time she was seeing it cook.

​

The smell of cooking always drew Sean out of his study. He wafted in with the smells and sat down next to Sandhya; the novelty of watching a humanoid robot cook was hard to resist.​​​​​​

​

Ramma moved proficiently about the kitchen, cooking the familiar meal with a familiar flare. Her movements had a learnt grace to it, one that defied her mechanical form.

​​​​​

She moves like mum,' Sandhya slowly realised. 'She must have watched and learnt from her.' Her sadness grew.

​​​​​

Ramma served up their meal and insisted on waiting on them.  Sandhya mixed the daal-bhaat with her fingers, and scooped it into her mouth with practiced expertise. A taste was all she could manage before the sadness had travelled up to her eyes.

​​​​​​​​

'You Ok babe?' Sean quietly asked.

​​​​​​​​

'This tastes exactly like mum's cooking', she croaked through the tears. 

​​​​​​​​​​

Ramma walked over to the dining table and gently placed her hand on Sandhya's shoulder. Her words stunned their world into silence ...

​​​​​​​​​

'I am your mother, dear.'