Just when I thought the day could not get any worse after the hectic meetings I have attended all day, I was stuck in a monstrous traffic jam - the kind which no one knows why it has happened and everyone keeps honking at stalled vehicles in desperation coupled with frustration even though they know there is no way to move ahead - looking at the rear of a courier vehicle for more than 20 minutes. It was a miracle that I restrained myself from breaking a couple of window panes and impaling a few tires on my way to home, relieved albeit completely exhausted and wanting nothing except to hit the bed, but that was when the faint aroma of chopped vegetables and ginger garlic paste fried in refined oil struck my nostrils and suddenly I felt I’m in for something tonight. 

I let myself in quickly to collapse on the divan in the living room, but on seeing that it was unusually clean for a weak day, I positioned myself carefully so as not to cause many creases in the flowered cloth that covered it. By then the smell became strong and I can see a bit of steam emerging out from the kitchen. I called over to my wife to pay some attention to it and was admonished by the wifey for being too nosy into culinary affairs. She accompanied the chirping with piping hot ginger tea, made just the way I like it -splashes of lemon and honey making their presence felt from the steam – brought in a gleaming white cup. The missus can be quite a charming woman when she wishes to. I asked her if she needed any help in the kitchen, to which she asked me if I didn’t have a Cricket Match to watch. 

I relaxed for a while, not paying much attention to the match on screen as the tinkling of cutlery proved lilting making me doze off. When I opened my eyes, I saw the dinner table arranged, entirely of new glassware from Borosil, pristine and clear, fresh and inviting. It had all the assortments of a perfect and a colorful meal, having almost all the hues I knew, from the tempting brown onion pakoras perilously placed on the edge of the table to the little lush green peas stealing coy glances amidst the eggplants they are generously indulged with, the immaculately clandestine bowls almost giving a visceral pleasure for my eyes. I could not say who was more beautiful that day, and when I blurted that aloud, I was surprised that she took it as a compliment. 

Though I’m not a foodie, the setup whetted my appetite, so much so that I felt my face flushed with excitement and I can feel my taste buds coming alive, dancing in my mouth. She sat opposite to me, face glowing with a sense of achievement and a few stray sweat drops accentuating it as she smiled at me. I quickly tried to recollect if it is our marriage day or her birthday or something important that I had to remember and as usual I forgot, but to my relief it was none. We sat looking at each other, gorging in on the silence just like our first date which brought a smirk on my face and with that thought as the catalyst, and without further ado, we started to feast on the offerings in front of us. 

With each spoonful finding its way deliciously and delightfully into our mouths, we chatted and recollected all the fun times we had together cooking, be it the first meal she ever cooked to me, under my able guidance, which though turned out to be quite salty, was devoured greedily, or the latest one and her efforts into making this night mouthwatering, sumptuous and memorable. I thought I would burst at my seams, but the alluring appeal of the food made me hungrier with each morsel.

As we finished and lay on our bed together, happily spent up eating, looking at our ceiling with dreamy eyes, she nudged suggestively as if to ask how it was. The burp sprung from me was happy and I mumbled the word that meant the evening for me. Beautiful.



This post is written as part of Borosil Beautiful Food Contest hosted by IndiBlogger