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
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