kitchen tales 2

The kitchen was her favourite room in the house.


She hardly ever cooked there. They always just ordered in. Specially over the last few months. Her new job left her so tired.


Yet she loved her kitchen. She loved the jars of spices. All old recycled bottles that once held jams, and sauces. Now filled with turmeric, chilly, coriander, cumin. The tall bottles had the everyday spices. The fat squat ones, the mismatched ones, those held spices that were used occassionally. Jaiphal, saffron, vindaloo masala, chaat masala. They stood ready inside her small kitchen cabinet. Like soldiers waiting their turn.


She pushed the bolt back, and opened the window by the kitchen sink. Morning light flooded the room. The gas was silent. The sink was empty. Three plastic water bottles stood huddled in a corner.


She sighed. She missed him. She missed his padding into the kitchen, newspaper in hand. His sleepy eyes. The way he put the saucepan on the gas. day after day.


Then it suddenly struck her. She had stood near him, getting breakfast ready, or reaching out for something. or just feeling his warmth beside her in that small, tiny kitchen. And she had never noticed how he made his tea. Did he boil the water first. Did he measure it in his teacup before pouring it into the saucepan. Did he first pull out the tea and the sugar from the cabinet. Or did he do that once the water started to boil. Her eyes stung.


She stood there and started to cry. A small wail first and then a big gut wrenching howl. When did this happen to them? When did they just stop noticing things about each other? When did they let such a big distance creep up between them?


She suddenly longed for that tea. That sweet milky tea that was brewed and boiled till it threaten to spill over the saucepan.


But she didn't know how to make it. If it was the water that went first. or the milk and the water. Or did the sugar go in at the beginning. or was that right at the end.

kitchen tales 1

the maid sat on the floor. bent over a boti. a steel dekchi, battered with the constant scrubbing it was subjected to, lay on the newspaper.


ranu checked the stove in the corner. the rice was coming along fine. she turned her attention to the gas. one burner had a round shallow kadai. the potols stuffed with kheema were just beginning to brown. the other burner had a large kadai on it. its handles had turned black with years of use. ranu frowned. the maid never bothered to scrape the handle with a knife. that's all it took. no point telling her anything. maids were hard to get these days. and of course no one could be like Suti Mashi.


Now those were the good old days. Suti Mashi ran the house as if it were her own. Of course she also drank at least one litre of milk with her morning tea, but look at how much she worked. The floors would shine, the bartans would sparkle and the way she cooked. Cubes of kumdo. Small tangra mach in tomato gravy. Slivers of baby papayas. And small florets of gobi cooked in a tangy mustard paste.


" Hoye Gache." (It's done)


Ranu looked at Chayya. And thought, " Chayya. Nowdays even their names are fancy."


Chayya returned her gaze with one of her own. And drawled, " I can't use this boti anymore. Why cant you get a nice knife and chopping board. Like the Mehtas upstairs. They even have a micro..."


"Never mind what they have", Ranu snapped. " They have no idea how to cook or cut their food."


Chayya shrugged sulkily and got up. She clutched her knees while doing so. And twisted her face in pain. Ranu noticed it all. " Playacting. She can just go to those Mehtas. They are vegetarians. Lets see her scoff rice and fish curry there."


The mustard oil was hot. Ranu held the steel dekchi in her left hand. Fat pieces of katla bedecked in turmeric and salt lay glistening in it. She waited patiently. If it started smoking, the smell would disappear. If it wasn't hot enough the fish would stick, or even worse break.


This was the moment she knew by heart. That magic moment when with a deft hand she would slide the pieces in. One by one. The oil would sputter, threaten to spill all over her. But she was ready. With another slice. And yet another. Together they would catch the oil by surprise. The hissing and spluttering would stop. And that lovely aroma of frying fish would fill the house.


Even Chayya would come and stand beside her. She would nod her head from side to side. Ranu knew that nod. It meant no one could do this like her mistress.


Ranu smiled and said, " Aajke tui amader shonge khabar kha." (Today, you eat with us.)