The Secret Condiment

‘I am going to Saharanpur,’ he told her over the phone about his plan to visit his ancestral home soon.

‘Well, that’s great!’ She couldn’t keep the relief – she felt on hearing that – from her voice.

It would give him the much-needed break from the hellish life, devoid of any normalcy, he was living these days. If that could be called life at all – nights lacking the intimacy with his partner and days full of dealing with customers at an underpaid job. To top that, he hardly got the standard three meals in a day let alone quality ones. Some of the times that he video-called her on WhatsApp, he appeared malnourished, the shadow under his eyes deepening. They rarely had video-calls, so she treasured the minutes she got to see him. This was certainly no time to voice her concerns over his appearance; it would be stating the obvious. In doing so, there would be little difference left between others and her. She took whatever he offered in way of information and left the rest for when he felt like opening up to her, probing was out of the question.

Everyone knew how fate had thrown him from the heights of sky to the earth – not just metaphorically, in every literal meaning of the phrase. Gone was the time when he piloted the 1^st class Indian Airliner over and around the world. She had asked him once during his respite after the flight, ‘What do you eat?’, fancying chocolates and desserts of all kinds he would devour during his brief interlude in Brussels, Toronto, London… His one-worded response had left her perplexed.

‘Muesli’

‘What’s that?’ she had asked naively.

Instead of explaining, he had shared an image of a small jute bag held in his hand. The picture of porridge, nuts, and raisins on the front of the bag had given away its contents.

‘Do you cook it?’

‘No I take it with yogurt.’

The fact that he was consuming it was alone enough to convince her of the delectable taste of this unheard of cereal. Besides, his WhatsApp statuses, from time to time, revealed a healthy body that spoke volumes about his dietary habits.

Don’t they say, a man is what he eats. She had decided then and there to try this Muesli thing. Call it a coincidence as the cereals factory near her home launched their new product soon after; half and one kg boxes titled ‘Muesli’ were advertised on TV. Not delaying it anymore, she was first in the queue to secure a box and take it home. With yogurt he had said. That was already in the freezer; she added two spoonful of rich, cold yogurt and gave it a mix. So this is what he eats, at least I can experience part of his dietary routine, if not more. As she had thought, she lifted the spoon to her mouth and had her much-awaited, first taste of the Muesli.

‘Yuck!’ It came doubling back into her mouth. Neither she could swallow nor she could throw up. The morsel in her mouth was…tasteless and heavy. Unaccustomed with having nuts in her meals, her taste buds went mute in shock. She felt she had something in her mouth, unable to decipher its flavor. Erg…in tiny shallow sucking, she drowned the lump pass her throat. THIS-IS-WHAT-HE-EATS! The words were an emphatic mental outburst. Really! She pledged never to have another go at his oh-so-favorite Muesli. Still later, she had discovered from him about the he counters lined with dark chocolates, assortments, pralines…. the list went on, assuring her that he wasn’t unaware of the worldly pleasures entirely.

Here he was in the present, working in cars’ showroom, the airline being grounded due to bankruptcy, earning way below what he used to. To make matters worse, he was being denied food and companionship in his own home of his own earning. Oh, the irony of it all! These visits to the village were a welcome respite from an otherwise tedious routine. His going away meant he won’t call her as readily as he would be busy with his parents and local affairs. But then, it also means him enjoying warm, straight from the skillet rottis, scrumptious, mouth-watering cuisine that his mum would prepare for him. So the trade off was acceptable. She would miss him most definitely, giving her all the more reason not to disturb his stay with his family. He would need all the positivity once he resumes his life back home.

Days passed before they talked again – partly because now a lot of chores kept him occupied and also, she was reluctant to keep him to herself during his days of peace, comfort and bounty. But he reached out to her nonetheless, squeezing in time to call her. Today was one of those days; her laughter reverberated in the room. He shushed her with his finger and muted his mic, instead of asking her to do so. She caressed his face with her gaze, taking note of the contours as he stood talking to someone, a look of tenderness descending in her eyes. For a brief moment, he tilted his phone upward to an angle, the sunlight caught on his face as he absent-mindedly registered her on the screen. She held his gaze before he looked away. A gasp left her lips. A shade of green, the color of the crystal clear lakes amidst the mighty Karakoram Mountains, was momentarily illuminated by the slanting rays of light. She felt as if she were seeing him for the first time. How could she go for so long without actually noticing his eye color. She had been blind definitely. And now she couldn’t tear away her gaze from his face; his cheeks appeared full and radiant, the dark half moons under the eyes long gone. His beard had grown slightly, the moustache teasing the dip in his upper lip, making his mouth appear all the more kissable.

‘He is indeed beautiful.’

Duh! Handsome, she corrected herself.  

‘What are you smiling at?’ Whoever he was talking to had probably left.

‘Well your mum’s food is working magic, I can see!’

‘Yes, I am having karahis, biryani, kababs, …’

He named a myriad of Indian dishes.

‘Yea I can see where all of it is going.’

‘Arey yar! I weigh 90 kg now.’

‘No wonder, you look like a sack of potatoes as well!’

‘Hey lady, check that tongue of yours.’

‘Why or you won’t pick my call?’

‘No I will. Besides, my mum saw your call. So I told her, this poor girl is calling for help with her dowry. She is old and still awaiting marriage.’

Unable to believe her ears, she narrowed her eyes at him.

‘I see your mum’s food has done some good to your wit too, gone is the cry baby who whined about hunger and starvation all the time.’

‘All the time! I hardly complaint once or twice.’

‘Look who’s talking.’

‘Now you want help with your dowry or not?’

‘Yes, please sahib,’ she mimicked the tone of an impoverished, penniless girl. ‘It would be so kind of you to get me married to someone. I promise I’ll repay you, once you are in Delhi and have no food on your table.’

They both burst out laughing.

‘Look at yourself, you are mocking my ordeal!’

‘No, I’m just rejoicing in your health and happiness.’

The light-hearted banter continued. The string of happiness went beyond the distance separating them, looping them in its warmth. It all seemed so real, so normal. She was truly meeting him in ways she could only imagine. Yes, this was the person in her imagination – serene, calm, self-assured, easy-going, and handsome. Yet the real him was way better than her mental image of him. Whenever he visited his village, the change caught on with him, transforming his brooding into hearty laughter. That’s what a filled stomach could do to a man; the contentment he felt was behind the stark change in his personality. Yet it wasn't just food alone.

The path to a man’s heart passes through his stomach. That is a common saying.

A man like him deserved three meals, hot and fresh, everyday. Every ordinary man who earned his living and provided for his family deserved that. Sheer injustice it was to him that he no longer got invited to the dinner table with his kids and wife. Estranged as they were to each other now, not only on the dining table but also in walks of life, his wife no longer cooked wholesome meals for him let alone savory ones. That’s why he always almost longingly asked her, will you cook me food? To that, she could only say a silent prayer in her heart. She most definitely would if only heavens would permit her.

It was no enigma to her – the secret ingredient his mum used while cooking for him that his wife forgot to add every time she went in the kitchen, which was seldom, unfortunately. That’s what made all the difference in life – hers, his, of everyone she knew. Food only helped to fill the stomach. However, it was the magic of the secret ingredient – creating unique flavors by the fusion of distinct elements – that ensured vitality and nourishment. Having seen her own mother use it in the kitchen, she had fair idea of what it was and why his life felt so empty even when he ate from dhabas to keep himself from starvation. It was Love – the carefully beheld secret, known to all yet shared by only a few.

Life thrives on love, although taking it out doesn’t affect the appearance of food or life in general, its absence takes its toll slowly and at length. Heaven on earth is the home wherein the aroma of this condiment forever provides bliss and solace to its residents.

Glossary:

 Arey yar: Hindi/Urdu words for O dude!

Dhabas: Small, local roadside eating stall/kiosk

karahis, biryani, kababs: Dishes of South-East Asian cuisine, particularly of Pakistan and India

Rottis: Plural of rotti; Indian bread or naan, usually eaten with curry

Saharanpur: : A city in the state of Uttar Pradesh, India

Sahib: Urdu/Hindi word for Mr/Sir