“Her labeled mason jars lined the shelves of the kitchen, in sealed pyramids, enough, they’d agreed, to last for their grandchildren to taste. They’d eaten it all by now.” 

The ingredients that Shoba has been storing up through their marriage are a symbol of the emotional reserves they have and foreshadow the end of their marriage. Throughout these stories, Indian food is a sign of home and comfort; here, that comfort is dwindling.

“What didn’t they know about each other? He knew she curled her fingers tightly when she slept, that her body twitched during bad dreams. He knew it was honeydew she favored over cantaloupe. He knew that when they returned from the hospital the first thing she did when she walked into the house was pick out objects of theirs and toss them into a pile in the hallway […]. When she was satisfied, she stood there staring at the pile she’d made, her lips drawn back in such distaste that Shukumar had thought she would spit. Then she’d started to cry.” 

There’s an irony at work between what Shukumar knows and doesn’t know—he’s correct that he has seen Shoba at her most vulnerable, but their distance from each other now keeps him from seeing the purpose of their game; he also doesn’t see the connection between her desire to throw away their belongings and her desire to leave him since he reminds her so much of their shared grief.

“It sickened Shukumar, knowing that she had spent these past evenings preparing for a life without him. He was relieved and yet he was sickened. This was what she’d been trying to tell him for the past four evenings. This was the point of her game.” 

For Shukumar, the game he and his wife have been playing is a move toward healing—after months of being emotionally distant from each other, he is starting to feel excited about their relationship again. The reveal that this was all a ruse for Shoba to work up the courage to leave him comes as a shock, but it is accompanied by ambivalence due to his feelings of relief.