Some things are awfully hard to get out of your head – catchy songs, cool dreams, kolam contests (with a “k”).

It was all Bharathi could think about the next day. At school, everyone drew the parts of a plant. He sketched a kolam in his notebook. At home, he took a short break from chores. To imagine a pattern in spilled water. And when it was time to pick out stones from the raw rice, he traced a geometric design on the plate.

At dinner, he was doing it again with the coconut chutney, when Appa caught him red-handed (white-handed?). “What are you doing?”

Bharathi quickly flicked a rice ball drenched in chutney into his mouth. “Nothing-sch!” He’d decided against telling Amma-Appa. Because he wanted to give them a surprise (and also because he was worried Appa would try to talk him out of it). He couldn’t wait to treat them to a grand dinner at Marina Hotel. He could imagine it all: Appa in his crisp, white shirt, Amma in her new saree seated at a gleaming table laden with yummy food in a glitzy hotel. Yes, that was the prize he wanted. After all, Appa-Amma already had cell phones. (Yes, yes, it was only the second prize. But a prize is a prize, right? RIGHT?)

He gave them a teeny hint. “I’ll treat you both to dinner at a five-star hotel. Very soon.” Amma gave him an indulgent smile.

“Thanks, kanna.”

“Planning to rob a bank-a?” Appa snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Poor thing. He can’t dream also or what?” Amma chided, serving him more sambar and beans poriyal. The madam in 4C had given them leftovers from last night, and rice was the only thing Amma had to cook. Appa tossed his head, mixing the food all together with his fingers. “Dreams and all are not for us.”

“Mekalai Miss says the future belongs to those who dream,” Bharathi said loftily.

Appa let out a derisive snort. “Future, it seems! Want a good life? Shut up and study. Go to college, get a good job in a big company, work hard and save money. Buy a small flat, a nice bike . . .” Bharathi rolled his eyes. “Then why did you name me after the great poet and writer Bharathidasan?” Bharathi shot back. “He didn’t work in a company.”

“Made a mistake, pah. Should’ve asked you before naming you.” Appa would’ve folded his hands in surrender if he wasn’t eating with his hands.

Amma clicked her tongue. “Only one way to stop this argument.” With that, she stuffed giant rice balls into their mouths. Bharathi grinned. Appa shook his head.

That night, Bharathi had a weird dream. There he was, dressed in a smart suit, balancing an office bag, laptop bag, cell phone, coffee cup, just like they did in the movies. As he swept through the glass doors of a shiny, sparkly, skyscraper-y building, everyone stopped what they were doing to salute him. He hopped into the elevator with Alagu (lift bans clearly didn’t work in dreams), got off at the top floor and tossed his things to his fumbling-bumbling fool of an assistant (who, for some reason, looked a lot like Narayan). He nodded at his minions and went straight to his corner office. He looked out of the ceiling-to-floor glass window. At the city at his feet. At the helicopter whirring overhead. At Tabassum, who was rappelling down the building in ninja gear. He smiled the smile of a big boss. Then he kneeled down and started drawing a kolam on the spotless marble floor.

Excerpted with permission from Kolam Kanna, Vibha Batra, Puffin.