In the Sharma home, dinner was a quiet occasion. Calm, save for the clatter of spoons and the occasional "Pass the salt," or "Eat all the bhindi." But when the 15-year-old Ayansh chose to quietly ask a shocking question in between bites that evening, the situation took an unforeseen turn. 

"By the way, Mom, Dad," he said, looking up from his plate with the confidence only a young boy can muster, "Um… I want to know how babies are actually born?" Mom froze mid-scoop, her ladle hovering dangerously close to tipping the rasam. Dad, meanwhile, turned an alarming shade of red, his usually commanding voice reduced to a weak cough. Ayansh leaned back in his chair, with a sense of wonder about their reaction, He smirked clearly enjoying their discomfort. 

"I mean," Ayansh continued, raising an eyebrow, "When I was eight, Mom said babies were a gift from God. Then when I asked again a while later, Dad said you picked me up from a basket at the temple. And don’t even get me started on the time you said an angel delivered babies when I was ten. So, what's the truth?" 

Dad cleared his throat again, this time louder and gulped down half a glass of water. Mom set the ladle down and fixed Ayansh with a stare. "Why are you asking this now?" she demanded. 

"Hehe, well, biology class was very enlightening today," Ayansh replied, smirking. "But I wanted to understand it better and learn from you. You know, the real deal. Since I don’t see angels being involved." 

Mom and Dad exchanged panicked glances. This wasn’t a conversation they had ever anticipated having. Talking about *that* in an Indian household? Unthinkable! 

Ayansh, meanwhile, had taken a sudden interest in poking at his rice, understanding the tension in the room. His smirk faded as he realized they were more horrified than he'd expected. "Oh my God," he said, looking genuinely alarmed now. "You don’t know how babies are born either, do you? Am I Adopted!?" 

Dad nearly choked on the Rasam Rice. "What? No! You’re not adopted, Of course, we know!" he sputtered. "What kind of question is that?" Mom, recovering her composure, sighed deeply. "Ayu, Let’s all finish eating first, we can sit down and talk about it after." 

Later that evening, the three of them sat awkwardly in the living room with buttermilk in their hands. Although no one seemed to be drinking it. Dad was fiddling with his tee shirt, looking down, preoccupied in thought but the tension in his body was very visible. Ayansh sat cross-legged on the sofa, his curiosity outweighing his awkwardness, waiting for mom to come outside from her room. 

"Alright, Let’s do this" Mom began, her tone a mix of determination and slight doubt. "You’re old enough now. It's time you understand these things the right way." Ayansh leaned forward, intrigued. Mom took a deep breath, but before she could start, Dad interrupted. "Wait, wait," he said, holding up a hand. "Let me handle this."  

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? You?" 

"Yes," Dad said, straightening his back. "I'm his father. I can do this." 

"Go ahead," Mom said, crossing her arms. "Let’s see how you do." 

Dad cleared his throat. He looked directly at Ayansh , who was now staring at him like he was about to hear the secret of the universe. "So, Ayansh ," he began, "babies...uh…are born when…two people…love each other very much." 

Mom groaned audibly. "Dad, this isn’t a 90s family movie. Can you please get to the point?" 

Dad looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. "Fine!" he said, throwing up his hands. "You do it!" 

"Gladly," Mom retorted. She turned to Ayansh , who was now visibly amused. "Ayansh ," she said firmly, "babies are born when a sperm from the father meets an egg from the mother. This usually happens during something called sex, which—" 

"OKAY THANK YOU Mom," Ayansh interrupted feeling extremely awkward, holding up his hands. "I get it! Please stop." Mom wasn’t done. “This is a natural part of life, and nothing to be ashamed of. It’s important you understand these things, especially at your age. I am glad you are able to bring this up with us with curiosity." 

Ayansh blinked. "Wow," he said, looking impressed. "That was...surprisingly straightforward." 

Dad, who was now nursing his wounded pride, muttered, "Well, I was getting to that." 

"Sure you were, Dad," Ayansh’s mom teased. "But thanks, Mom. This actually makes sense now." 

Mom nodded, satisfied. "Good. And while we’re at it, let’s talk about safe practices, consent, and respecting boundaries and contraception" 

"Wait, there’s more?" Ayansh groaned, sinking into the sofa. 

"Of course, there’s more!" Mom said. "This isn’t just about biology. It’s about being responsible and respectful and informed about making the necessary decisions in regards to any relationship with any person you may have in your life. Do you have any questions?" 

Ayansh thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Um, maybe, but can we talk about this slowly and sometime else?” 

Mom smiled. "That’s because it’s important to talk about these things openly. If you ever have doubts or questions, you can always come to us." Ayansh looked genuinely touched. "Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad. I mean, it’s a little weird, but 

I’m glad we talked." 

Mom smiled and said “It is, it’s very new to us as well but let’s try to have more open conversations, we’re a family right? We are always here for you.” 

Dad, still looking slightly awkward, managed a weak smile. "You’re welcome, Dear" 

Later that night, as Mom and Dad lay in bed, Dad sighed deeply. "We handled that...better than I thought." 

Mom chuckled. "Speak for yourself. You were ready to stick with the 'basket at the temple' story." 

"It worked for nine years!" Dad protested. 

Mom rolled her eyes but smiled. "Well, at least now he knows the truth. And maybe, hopefully, we’ve made it a little easier for him to talk to us in the future." 

Dad nodded, and then frowned. "Do you think we should’ve included diagrams or explained to him using his textbook?" 

Mom swatted his arm. "Go to sleep and stop overthinking it. It’s our son; he’s going to be fine!" 

And with that, they turned off the lights, proud of having tackled the dreaded "talk" like the modern Indian parents they aspired to be. They could feel more connected as a family towards the end of it and hoped to establish a safe space for their son to talk to them. 

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