Coming out to my Gujarati grandmother

My grandmother, my Ba, is eighty-four and still makes theplas every Sunday for the whole building. She has strong opinions about pickles, cricket and the correct way to fold a sari, and I was sure she would have strong opinions about me.

I told her on a Sunday, while helping her roll the dough. My hands were covered in flour and I could not look at her. "Ba, I don't want to marry a girl. I like boys. I have a boyfriend."

She kept rolling. Round and round, perfectly even, as always. After a long minute she asked, "Is he vegetarian?"

I laughed so hard I dropped the rolling pin. "Yes, Ba. He's Jain."

"Good," she said. "Then he can come for thepla next Sunday. Tell him to bring his mother's methi recipe. Mine is better, but I want to see."

He came. He brought the recipe. Ba declared hers better, as promised, and packed him a steel dabba of theplas to take home. Now she asks about him before she asks about me.