Sujata

Sujata wore a blouse with puffed short sleeves with her usual chiffon sari that day. It was a humid afternoon in Howrah. It was just before lunch time and she was busy assembling lunch. Her husband would be home in minutes. She had filled the bitter gourds with spiced potato and was about to leave them in the frying pan, when the bell rang.

Sujata took on a lot of work. Mostly house work. Sometimes she hauled bags of groceries up the stairs. She cooked three meals for her family, washed and cleaned, folded piles of laundry etc. But she never showed any exhaustion. Perhaps because she went about tasks at her own pace, like a swan. For instance, when the bell rang, she didn't leave the gourds to open the door. Rather she saw them crackle in the oil, washed her hands, while wiping them with the end of her sari, walked to the door.

Sujata pulled out a chair for him and while he sat there scrolling through his phone, she served him several dishes that she had cooked since mid morning. Steamed rice with tempered dal, little aubergines dipped in besan and fried, a small salad, a bit of leftover chholey and the potato stuffed bittter gourd that came last. Husband had a silver jewelry shop in the market nearby and always showed up for lunch. Next would be her father in law who stayed in a room in their house and came out for necessities like food and water. He didn't like the outside much since he had a television inside the tiny room he had. Sujata sometimes served him lunch inside. But that day he had chosen to come out.

After him, Sujata's son would reach home from school and eat lunch while narrating his day to his mother. Sujata would listen to all tit bits and ask a question or two in return. Sometimes, even more folks showed up after that, unexpected, brothers, or sisters who were in the area, friends and guests. After feeding everyone, Sujata would sit with whatever food was left in a bowl alone on the dining table and eat. Slowly, at her own pace. Later she would make a cup of tea and vanish into her room for a bit before emerging to start making dinner.

That  day when she went to her bedroom after lunch, her husband was on the bed, watching the news. She often pondered whether he chatted with that old mistress of his. But she had stopped asking him that question a few years ago. Accepting had made it easier, albeit only a little. The moment she lay on the bed, he sat up and left. 

Sujata breathed deeply and thought if she should fold the laundry or speak to her son. Then she peeked out the window. It was a cloudy day, perhaps the clothes wouldn't have dried completely. So she decided to lie down a little longer. 

Her mind meandered for a while before she sat up to sip from her tea cup.

Suddenly her head rolled. The feeling traveled down her body like a thunder. Her chest felt tight and she fell on the floor. Her breathing paused. 

As per pupils closed, her thoughts stretched out a bit longer. Next in the room would be her son who would rush in after hearing the thud. He would probably call his father. Then perhaps, some neighbors or relatives. Her daughter who studied engineering and lived in a hostel, one night away, would probably be the last to arrive. 

DTF

Funny, how when I thought about a date, only food came to mind. I saw dimly lit yellow restaurants with red decor. Heard the clink of cutlery and thought about soups, hot and sour, or cream of mushroom, fried chicken or salads with my favorite dressing, breads, lots of breads and oodles of noodles. Surprisingly my mind never strayed to dessert. Someone I knew said they would skip dinner but not dessert. Not me though. I would indulge in ample amounts of both, in their natural order. But I never would fantasize as much about a cheese cake as I would about, say, a bowl of ramen or steamy dumplings.

And what was more shocking was the fact that I never invested mindspace on the man. I obviously chatted and listened. And occasionally flirted. But, I never obsessed. I was cool. Twenty-seven, and not particularly looking. But not shutting the doors entirely either. I had, what you would call, an open mind.

I had many serious infatuations, followed by not-an-affair kind of affairs with mostly emotionally unavailable men. Then a couple of medium term relationships, one in grad school and one at the work place. The former didn't last the distance, after graduation, like I had assumed it would not. The latter did not survive because, well, I grew up.

So now there was no room for drama. I was down to DTF. Although I was no Charlie Harper, I had shed most of my shyness like an old skin. And I was meeting with a guy I had run into on a dating website. We were meeting over egg rolls and other street food, out in front of a park I used to frequent.


Winter

When in sixth grade
In the middle of a school fete
On a crisp December morning
I told my plump teacher of Math
That I would miss class for a week or more
Flowers in her hair, and brows squeezed 
She asked what was I upto
We were going up to the Himalayas 
Yes, in winter
Brows immediately apart
She asked me to have some fun, please

For hundreds of miles
In a bus with nausea as a co-passenger
Families with kids, old folks 
The single and unattached
And people of all other kinds
Packed with our bags and suitcases 
Embarked on a journey north ward 

Sometime around Christmas
When the twelve year old me
Woke up in the morning 
I saw snow capped mountains 
I, literally I had never seen snow
Several mountain ranges away
But snow, nevertheless 

My eyes were awed
And I felt completely woke
I rolled down the window
A chill caught my cheek
And I felt my mellow unviolated skin
Crack in the cold
That honey, was the first feel of winter

Fling

I cannot remember your face, tonite
Wide awake as my mind floats back in time
We were acquaintances, merely
You were after my good friend
And thought, I'd fix you up with her
How naive, mister
And hence you befriended me
But slowly you gave up on my friend
Because that was not to be
And that was that

Years later I visited your city 
Wild, by the sea
And you felt obligated to show me around
Or you wanted to, really
I didn't bother to know
I was elated, you showed up
Mostly, just showing up matters

You took me out for pizza
And to the movies 
To stake dinners with candles
It felt funny because I really dressed up
Skirts and heels, so not me 
You teased me and stepped back
We had been careful about crossing lines 

I treated you to a sub, 
In a sunny looking subway on a Saturday 
Remember?
And spilled coke all over your shirt
My face was flushed pink 
And you seemed totally okay
Somewhere there we crossed those lines

You made me garlic bread 
In the middle of the night
We ate bars of chocolate 
And kissed in the dark
I wasn't the pretty one
Definitely not your type
You were far from my type too
We both knew and it didn't matter

Such was that fling
Short-lived and too casual for memory
Yet, I remember 
Everything but your face
Later, when you coyly asked me permission 
To kiss me again
I sobered up and said that's not a great idea
How you must've shrunk
I cringe to think of, now