“Vermillion. That is the
color. Not red, no, …definitely not an
orange.” Amma liked to draw attention to the nuances while narrating a
recipe. She would dip her index finger
into the thick paste and show it to her elder daughter. “Once you have ground all the ingredients, this should be the color.”
The clock
struck 4 and her colleagues rose for their regular chai and cigarette fix. Oblivious of her surrounding, Lata started at
the keys of her typewriter, mentally making a list of all the ingredients for
the nth time. Sardines, Pearl onions, Ginger, Garlic,
Pepper, Chilly, Turmeric.......
Her husband and his
guest sat down at the table and leered at the plate of seafood placed in front
of them. She smiled at both the men
again and chose her next words purposefully.“Let me serve you some
fish first”
As a child, Lata always
looked forward to Wednesdays. She would
wait for school to end and walk back home twice as fast longing to taste her
mother’s signature dish – crispy fried
sardines. The wafting aroma of sardines
dowsed in oil was the first to greet on her on most Wednesdays and she would
run into the kitchen breathing the warm goodness of her mother’s cooking.
But that was more than
two decades ago.
The clock above her
office desk showed five minutes to four. Oddly, everyone seemed (atleast pretended) to
be busy at work and the only sounds in the room emanated from a few stubborn
typewriters and a rickety old fan. Lata fidgeted in her seat, distracted and
restless. Ever since the cookery show last evening on Doordarshan, all she
could think of was frying sardines just like how Amma used to. Numerous
office files lay scattered on her desk screaming for attention as Lata toyed
with the idea of cooking the dish that same evening.
Lata closed her eyes
and visualized the scene again. Sardines
drowned
in vermillion paste... the spluttering of oil getting louder each time
the fishes were flipped over ... Amma narrating the recipe holding the
steel spatula in her hand.... Lata loved the smell of fried
fish unlike her sister. No sooner had her mother put them on a platter, her
young and greedy fingers would reach for them.
“They are hot!!!... Have some patience child” Amma’s oily hands would reach for Lata to reprimand.
Her mind refused to
concentrate on anything else. When she
closed her eyes, the image of a plantain leaf laden with rice and fish fry tickled
her taste buds. Her heart longed to savour every single bite and the
imagination only seemed to heighten the craving. She
opened her eyes and it was twenty minutes
past four. Lata gulped down a glass of water and shifted in her seat,
trying to focus on the sheet of paper which stared back at her half
typed. She looked at it for another 30 seconds and
then abandoned it with a shrug. Lata glanced at the
wall calendar and smiled to herself. Wednesday!
It is a sign!
She had bought exactly
four pieces of sardines from the local fish market the previous evening
thinking she would fry them the following Sunday. Hari preferred to eat them
during the weekends, that too maybe twice or thrice a month. As much as he loved seafood, her husband preferred
to stick to a monthly budget.
Lata looked at her
colleague Shyama who sat typing furiously at the opposite table. Then she
turned to look at manager, whose cabin was diagonally opposite to her desk. Thankful that no one was watching her, Lata
rose from her chair and walked composedly towards the door. The bus too was on time. Perfect!
On reaching her house, she turned the lock
as fast as she could, threw the umbrella and her purse onto the sofa and rushed to
the kitchen. Pleased that her plan was
about to bear fruit, Lata arranged all the ingredients and quickly got started
on her soul food.
Two hours had passed
when Lata heard voices outside. One
belonged to her husband and other did not even sound vaguely familiar. She opened the door to
face her husband and the guest. "Ah Lata good you reached early , see who has decided to join us for dinner .” Her
husband announced cheerfully. She greeted the men with
a meek smile, the picture of her perfect evening steadily diminishing to a
blur.
“You are frying fish??!”. Her husband puckered up his nose and sat
down on the sofa beaming. He turned to
his colleague, “Today is your lucky day
Ravi….my wife makes excellent sardines. In fact I am famished, shall we talk as
we eat?”
Lata fingers played
with rivets of the sofa, her discontent growing. Her thoughts of savoring every
bite suddenly seemed so futile and her plans was thwarted in seconds. Trying not to let the disappointment show, she
quickly composed herself and decided to make polite conversation with her guest.
Lata prayed that her body language did not make him feel uninvited. “Glad you came by Ravi. Please make yourself
at home. I will set the table right away.”
As she carried the
plate of fried sardines to the table, she was reminded of the squabbles with her sister
for a bigger piece. A lump formed in her throat as she looked at the four
pieces of neatly arranged fishes on a clean white plate.
Grow up foolish woman! The words in her head repeated.
The men looked famished
and seemed to be oblivious of her while they ate their meal quietly. Obviously neither of them cared for a
discussion of any sort while relishing a home cooked meal. Lata leafed through
a magazine trying to distract herself.
The guest was the first
to speak after licking his fingers clean.
“Simply delicious, Lata. You have no idea how much I have been craving for
fried fish……...”
The lump in her throat suddenly
felt bigger. She swallowed hard before uttering the words.
“ I can only imagine….”
