The Rebel, The curry and The Salt

Sara paused before the sweetmeat stall, inhaling the wonderful scent of the brilliant honey confectionery. She was late, she realized as she glanced at the enormous clock that hung on a pillar in the center of the bazaar. Of course, she was always dilatory when it came to matters of making her way home again. But she had an entire meal to prepare now and everybody would be home in an hour. She stood there for a moment, debating whether the admonishment she was sure to receive was worth perpetuating her freedom for a few more minutes. She seemed to make up her mind soon and hurried into the shop, the straps of the huge bags of groceries cutting red welts into her prematurely raw hands. Sara gently set down the bags in the corner and greeted the man at the register quietly, her eyes downcast but a small smile gracing her lips nonetheless. The other women in the shop looked at her snidely, snickering and gossiping among themselves. She only caught snatches of their conversation but the words pierced through her painfully. They looked down on her, that much was obvious. They always had opulent jewelry and gaudy little trinkets and beautiful saris. They always seemed to wear loveliest clothes as well- satin petticoats hemmed with tiny chips of colored glass, chiffon wraps embroidered with flowers and silk that poured through your fingers like cream. They needn't have ever visited the public marketplace. After all, they had employed scores of people to run these measly errands and they only ever stood in groups, chatting and reveling in the coveted glances they received from men and women alike. So, Sara suspected that it was simply an excuse for them completely bury themselves under layers of maquillage and then strut in. It was no wonder that they felt that Sara was inferior to them. She didn't spend hours lightening her skin with foul slimy concoctions and she dressed modestly, in a brown slip and draped an earth-colored cloth over her torso.

She told herself that she wasn't envious of them. That she didn't care about such finery. But these were false claims, built up only to reassure herself. They had never worked a day in their shallow, contented little lives. And more often than not, she toiled for hours on end yet no remonstrance crossed her lips. So, was it really too much to ask to be respected? For the people at home to look at her without rage simmering in their gaze?

She finally pulled a few coins from her purse and grabbed the bags. The tiny bell rung as the door swung open. She soon reached the house at the end of the cobbled street. It was twilight and the rapidly falling darkness obscured her vision. But she already knew what lay before her. It was a tumble-down cottage, stifling in the hot Indian summers and bitterly cold in the winters.

She rushed inside to the kitchen. Sara could see her elderly mother-in-law sitting in a worn armchair and could tell by the light snores that the woman must be asleep. She sighed in relief. Nobody was home yet. The radio was humming and voices crackled over it. The windows were thrown open, warm golden light spilling out and illuminating the unkempt garden outside. Some sort of incense had been lit in the living room and had filled the dank house with a soothing earthy scent. It seemed peaceful. Surreptitiously, she wondered if this was how it would be when she lived alone. When the children had left to go work in the big cities and her husband, Neel, had died and the relatives no longer visited.

She shook her head slightly and soon busied herself. She seemed to move through the kitchen like a whirlwind, chopping onions and mashing vegetables and crushing spices. With practiced skill, she slid everything into a frying pan, coughing slightly as it sizzled and spat drops of hot oil. She sprinkled ground coriander over it all. Then she fished out a bowl and began to ladle the slightly soured curd into it. Dipping a long finger into the bowl, she delicately tasted it and her mouth curved with satisfaction. She had left it out in the morning in the hopes that the paste would curdle ever so slightly. It enhanced the flavor of the food. Sara picked up the chipped bowl and began to whisk its contents, her hands moving at a dizzying pace. She stopped occasionally to add herbs or greens to the batter. Then, she set it over the stove and cleaned the counter. Soon the heady aroma of curry filled the room. She decided to let it boil for a little more time. So, she pulled out a wooden stool and sat down heavily. She gently pulled open the tight braid and let her long dark ebony hair fall in loose curls.

She relaxed and rested her head against the cabinet door. She felt that she could only unwind when there was no one at home. It hadn't always been like this, of course. Her childhood had been a happy one- days spent splashing through the stream nearby and running through the corn maze and laying in the fields that stretched off into the countryside for miles. Her family hadn't been rich, per say. But they'd had enough money to educate her well and enjoy a few luxuries every once in a while. They didn't have a secondary school in the small town that she was raised in so many people had dropped out after that. But she would walk three miles every day to study in the city school. That's where she met Neel. He was about the same age as her, maybe a few months older. He rode his bicycle along the worn path beside her and they made their way home together. Occasionally, they'd stop for deep-fried pastries sold by vendors on the outskirts of the city. He always seemed callous and care-free, not nearly as interested in making a success of himself, but they both made it to the community college. She wanted to go into banking and he was content with whatever required the least work. They were still quite close friends at this point but, in retrospect, that's all that she had considered him to be. A friend. In the third year of college, they became a couple. But it all seemed very rushed and barely two months after that, they got engaged. Secretly, even at the time, she suspected that it was just familial pressure that drove him. She dropped out after that, albeit rather reluctantly. It would be expected of her anyways. There were many duties that a newlywed bride was expected to carry out and college just couldn't fit into that framework. She often regretted that decision heartily. She had been just one year away from the degree. And so, they were soon married. At first, it was like a bed of roses. They spent much time together, sometimes going out for films or lavish dinners or just meeting up with friends. After their marriage, she had gotten a clerical job. It didn't pay very well but it stimulated her mind and ensured that her studies hadn't been a complete waste. Within the first year of their marriage, their son was born. They christened him Deven. But soon after, Neel became cold and distant. It was horrible, like having to constantly tiptoe around eggshells. Sara hoped fervently that he would return to his old self soon. Maybe he would've, given time, but about three months after Deven's birth, his mother came to stay with them permanently. She was sickly, the doctors said. She required a round the clock caretaker and Sara was expected to fill the position. His mother moved into the guest room. That was most definitely the turning point. Neel completely withdrew. He treated her like dirt and walked all over her. It was probably the stress, she had tried to reason with herself initially. The slightest of requests from her would turn into a full-blown yelling match. She endured the mean taunts and rude remarks silently. Still, it was not in her nature to give up and something as monumental as this at least deserved a proper effort. In the years that followed, they had two more children- a son and a daughter. Nothing really changed between them though. And somewhere along the way, her self esteem disappeared. She spent more time at work nowadays and avoided him at home. And, Sara, despite her big heart and caring disposition, started to resent him greatly. Sometimes, he wouldn't come home at night. He would just stumble in wearily in the early hours of the morning, his clothes rumpled. At first, she wondered if he was having an affair. But as the days went on, she realized that she didn't actually care. It sounded bad, its true, but she understood that she genuinely didn't feel hurt at his infidelity. If anything, she felt relieved. At least, he never came home with his breath reeking. For all his faults, he was never a drunk because he waned to set a good example to the children. He was still a very good father to them, despite his failed marriage. She wondered if she would regret what she was going to do.

Soon, she heard the sound of the door creaking open and people traipsing in. The sound of their heavy footfalls roused her from her daze and she quickly got up. She sighed unhappily. She liked it when she was alone at home. Nobody had come into the kitchen yet so she set a pot of water to boil and began to hurriedly tie her hair again, winding the loose tendrils behind her ears. She added the tea leaves and then sweetened it with a crushed mixture of sugar, cardamom, cinnamon and ginger. She carefully placed this all on a worn tray and took it outside, placing it on the wood table. The occupants of the room barely looked up as she came in, all except for one. Her youngest child and only daughter, a bright girl aged aged eleven, Anna, immediately ran up to Sara and put her arms around her. She smiled up at Sara, revealing straight white teeth. It was the most angelic smile, so pure that it would be sure to melt the hardest of hearts. Sara felt a sudden urge to tell her about the delicious treats that she had bought at the market, if only to see that beautiful smile again. Anna immediately began to babble rapidly in fluent Hindi, clearly delighted about something or other, and before Sara could reply, they were interrupted. "Let your mother get to work, Anna." came the sharp remark of her older brother as he gently prised her off Sara and set her down on the carpet. Anna shuffled off, looking put-out and Sara reached out for her again, slightly indignant. "It's alright, Deven." She chided her oldest son. "I have time for her." He opened his mouth to reply but Neel beat him to it. "Sara, put Anna down now. We are hungry. Go back to the kitchen!" She nodded mutely and turned on her heel, furious. It was no secret that she spent the most part of her days cooking, cleaning and taking care of everybody in the house but she despised feeling like a servant in her own home. She set the food down on the table with an angry thud and called everyone, hating how meek she sounded. They all ate quietly, so different from the usual dinners that she would suffer through when the occupants would chat about politics and the family affairs. Nobody ever asked for her opinion and she was often disregarded anyhow. So she would just sit there, dumb. This silent meal was, therefore, a welcome change. This was how it would be when there was no one left to boss her around. Just a quiet meal and a hot drink before an early night. She glanced at Anna. Sara would just want Anna to stay with her. They would enjoy their time together, just the two of them, spending their days together the way her own mother had never had the freedom to. Maybe she would even be as happy as the ladies at the market. Anna smiled at her ingratiatingly, seeing a golden halo permanently stuck to her mother's head. Neel's voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"This needs more salt" he said sourly and both her sons, sitting on either side of him, nodded like the mindless sycophants they were. They were so predictable, constantly finding flaws in everything. She got up, her face a careful mask, and gently sprinkled the powdery white substance over his food and her sons' plates. "Oh no, mama! This is delicious the way that it is." Anna said adoringly when her mother reached her and Sara smiled to herself. How lovable she was!

Later that evening, when Anna had been put to bed, Sara sat by the fire in the kitchen, cooking millet and raw onions in a pan. That would be their breakfast the following day. She was just adding cumin to it when she heard a blood-curdling scream. She kept working, her eyes on the pan. She had never been expressly called during an emergency anyway. "Sara! SARA! SARA!" She could hear him screaming her name now. So, this time, she walked outside, a soapy pot in her hands and her hair tied in a knot at the base of her neck. "What's wrong?" She asked, seemingly concerned. Her eyes were glinting and they looked slightly fractured in the candlelight. But Neel looked in no condition to identify the change that had come over his wife. His shirt was pasted to him with sweat and he was shuddering on the ground, clutching his stomach and howling in agony. He writhed and coughed up blood. She could hear yelling in the neighboring rooms as well. She simply stood there however, careful not to cross the threshold. After all, she had been told to stay in the kitchen. She wasn't one to disobey orders. "Help." He whimpered, convulsing slightly. She smiled vaguely though and barely looked a him. She was holding the bowl of salt from earlier that evening now and examining the tiny grains. Neel cried out again but she took no notice, other than looking slightly irritated. Very gently, she placed the granules of salt on the chopping board and then with no warning, she fiercely crushed it some more. It was very fine now and she looked satisfied. They specks of ground glass, or 'salt' as she liked to call it, were nearly powder now. She picked up a little bit in the hollow of her palm and then, dumped the rest in the aga. No one would suspect now.

Slowly, she leaned down, till she was at eye-level with him.

"Would you like some more salt?" she asked sweetly, holding out her hand.