That was a little detail he had forgotten about.
‘Oopsie, I forgot all about Rohit and Tanya in my excitement. I can do one thing: I can deliver the food on your behalf. But wait, somehow that won’t look too professional. You will have to come and arrange the food on the table and be cordial with the guests. After all, that is what will differentiate us from the regular hotel delivery guys.’
I have noticed that he has said ‘us’ and I like it. My mind has already started looking for a solution. Akash’s enthusiasm has charged me up. His plan does look very workable. He has taken so much trouble, made those business cards and letterhead, pitched for me, and got me this deal. I surely cannot back out now and let him down. Besides, this is a really good opportunity for me too.
If the kids are taken care of, I really will have no problem going with Akash to deliver the food.
I decide that I will explain my whole situation to Mrs B and ask her if she would keep the kids for me for a couple of hours.
Akash thinks it is an excellent idea.
We clink our glasses finally and sip our wine.
‘Here’s to The Magic Saucepan,’ he says, as he puts and arm around me and gives me a squeeze.
We later eat our dinner, and Akash says it is truly the best Mughlai chicken and the best salad he has ever tasted.
‘And what about the rotis? I ask, greedy for more praise.
‘Rotis too. Absolutely the best rotis in the world,’ he says in a voice filled with sincerity.
We are both as excited as children on their first visit to Disneyland. I still cannot believe how much effort and thought he has put into all this.
I haven’t made any dessert, but have some vanilla ice cream stashed in the refrigerator. I top it with some hot chocolate sauce and we carry it to the balcony.
We sit in silence again, watching the Mumbai traffic crawl along, a sea of humanity, each with their own dreams, their own agendas. Each hurrying to go to their destinations. Finally I say, ‘You know what, Akash?’
‘What?’ he asks.
‘You really are the best!’
Then we sit and gaze at the half moon and the clear, star-studded sky, and that night, the stars truly seem to be shining brighter than ever before.
Something’s Happening
This time Akash has come prepared to stay over at my place. He has packed both his overnight clothes and his work wear for the next day, as he had decided that it makes sense to leave for his office from my place, rather than going to his place just to change. He is so surprised to see Tanya getting ready all by herself.
‘Nisha, you have really made Tanya quite independent. She does not need your help at all?’ he asks incredulously.
‘Akash, she is seven! She can definitely manage to have a bath and wear clothes on her own.’
‘Yeah, but still. You do have your morning routine in clockwork precision. Really, I am in awe,’ he says.
‘Well, years of single parenting has taught me that to manage kids, the most important thing is routine. I used to handle all their stuff myself. You know, Samir was never there. So everything has to be clockwork, Akash. That is what keeps the wheels turning in perfect precision. But you know, sometimes it gets really boring. That is why a visit from you is a welcome change.’
‘Is that the only reason?’ he smiles as he asks.
‘Plus, of course, the bonus of seeing you dressed up in a pink t-shirt with white flowers on it, and pants, both of which are too short for you, and scaring the living daylights out of unsuspecting old ladies,’ I say without missing a beat, and he laughs.
Akash has some time on hand, as he says that he has to be at work only at eleven thirty or even noon. I ask him if he would mind walking Tanya to the bus stop, and he says he of course does not mind at all. He insists on even carrying Rohit in case I need a break from the kids. I find that very sweet of him, but I tell him I will take care of Rohit.
When he comes back, we decide that the first step in putting The Magic Saucepan in action involves taking Mrs B into confidence and telling her all about my life so far. I really do not mind that now because I have started to warm up to her. She is quite an endearing little thing and is always considerate. But I tell Akash that the first step can wait and I will do it after he leaves.
The second step is my speaking on the phone to Mrs Singh who is Akash’s director’s wife. Akash had told her that I would give her a call. Akash dials her number from his phone, talking to her for a few minutes, after which he hands over the phone to me. Mrs Singh asks about my experience in this field and I tell her that I have cooked for eight years and catered for home parties, which is the truth really. I have indeed cooked so many times these eight years, and have entertained Samir’s business associates as well as his friends (whom I truly did not much like, but I always played the role of the good wife) in the parties which we threw. I tell her that Chinese food is my speciality and she will truly have no complaints. I ask her if I can pack a sample for her to taste for her approval, and she says there is no need for that, as she has full confidence in Akash and his choice. The only thing is that she expects me to be punctual on Saturday. I assure her that even though the time given is 7.30 p.m., I would definitely be there at least fifteen minutes early. She is happy.
‘You never cease to surprise me, lady. You really spoke like a pro. Well done!’ exclaims Akash.
‘Oh, being with Samir for so many years, I have dealt a lot with people like Mrs Singh. That has made me understand these so-called “high society’’ people who think their shit smells better than others’,’ I say bitterly.
‘I assure you Mrs Singh is nothing like that. She is a very down-to-earth person,’ says Akash.
‘Most of them speak well to you if you have money. I have seen how some of them treat those that are economically less fortunate than them. Anyway, we don’t have to argue on her character. Let’s get down to business,’ I reply.
‘I agree,’ says Akash. ‘So step three, which has to be carried out on Friday, is hiring all the huge vessels that we will need to cook in and arranging for one of those stoves which will hold them. We can connect your gas cylinder to the stove. We will hire the utensils on Friday and return them on Saturday, after we finish cooking. That way, we will only have to pay a day’s rent for them. I have already spoken to this guy, Ahmed Bhai, who rents out the stuff. He has assured me there won’t be any glitches.’
‘I am nervous, Akash. You know I have never done anything like this before.’
‘Don’t worry, Nisha, I am there with you.’
‘So basically, step four too has to be done on Friday. I will have to go and buy all the ingredients that will be required. This local store called Spar stocks some really fresh fruits and veggies which are replenished every morning by eleven, so that should be fine.’
‘Hey, Nisha, listen, you will not be able to carry it all back yourself. I will bring my car on Friday evening and will stay over so that get the stuff together.’
‘Akash, you’re doing so much for me. I really don’t know how to thank you.’
‘Thank me by making a success out of it. And don’t worry, nothing can go wrong,’ he assures me.
Then he has his breakfast and leaves for work.
Had Akash even had a little bit of inkling of what was to come, and how terribly wrong things could go, and would go, with The Magic Saucepan’s first party order, he would not have assured me with such confidence.
But we are yet to know it then, and I feel placated by his words, and feel truly blessed to have a friend like him.
I decide to execute step one the very same day. When Rohit is asleep, I quickly dash out and ring Mrs B’s doorbell and ask her if she can come over to my place for a few minutes, as I need to talk to her. That way, I can be around in case Rohit wakes up from his nap.
‘Of course, my dear, we will have some tea and talk. Put the kettle to boil please, will you? Give me five minutes and I will be there,’ she says.
I leave the door to my flat open and make two cups of tea, and just as I am carrying it to the dining table, Mrs B enters with a white porcelain plate in her hand, on which is placed a very delicious-looking piece of chocolate cake.
She sees the two cups of tea that I have set on the table and places the cake beside it.
‘Here you have it. Tea for two and a piece of cake, plus, of course, conversation. These small moments are what make life worthwhile,’ she says, her eyes shining and taking the years she has lived off her.
Her positive attitude towards life and the joy that she finds in small things has me smiling, and soon I am pouring out my whole life story to her, including the situation that I currently find myself in.
Mrs B listens quietly.
‘Ah, I always wondered why this flat was locked ever since I moved here,’ she says.
‘So now you know the whole story,’ I say.
‘Yes, and don’t worry my dear, we have to see The Magic Saucepan succeed at any cost. I will be the, as they say, “behind-the-scenes” support. You already have your executive assistant in your friend,’ she says with a glint in her eye. Even though Mrs B is old, she is really young at heart. She is enthusiastic and she uses words like ‘behind the scenes’ and ‘executive assistant’, which I think is a rather modern thing to do. I would not expect someone her age to use words like that. I smile.
‘Thank you so much, Mrs B. I was hoping I could count on you. You are really so enthusiastic for a person your age. I love your attitude,’ I say.
‘You can be old at twenty-five and you can be young at sixty-three. It is all in the head, my dear,’ she says and chuckles.
The whole week is spent in trepidation, laced with excitement. I tell Tanya all about it and she claps in delight.
‘Very nice, Mummy! I am sure everyone will like what you cook,’ she says. She is at that precocious age when daughters think that their mothers are perfect and they want to be like them. She adores me and makes me feel so wonderful about myself.
‘So, on Saturday, you and Rohit will have to stay with Mrs B till Mummy and Akash come back, okay?’ I tell her.
‘Don’t worry, Mama. I will also help Mrs B look after Rohit,’ she offers cutely.
On Friday noon, Akash calls me to tell me that he is stuck again at work and will be very late. He says he really wanted to come to help me carry the stuff home, but it does not look possible. He is upset about it and apologetic too. He says he has spoken to Ahmed Bhai about the vessels and the stove who has assured him that they will be delivered in an hour’s time. I assure him that I would be able to handle the shopping and tell him not to bother.
‘Anyway, I will come there tonight straight from office, and tomorrow, The Magic Saucepan swings into action,’ he says.
The huge vessels and the stove arrive as instructed. But I soon discover that the kitchen is too small to accommodate it all. So I push the dining table to a side, move the dining chairs to the bedroom, and tell them to keep it all in the drawing room which also has the dining table in a corner now. My drawing room now resembles a large kitchen in marriage halls where food is cooked for a hundred people. But this is no time for aesthetics, and I am so glad to see all the equipment that I tip the guy fifty rupees. He thanks me and leaves.
I go shopping for the ingredients and am able to easily get the chicken, the noodle cakes, vegetables, and sauces. But the spring onions and ajinomoto have been sold out for the day. Both are highly essential in Chinese cooking for that extra bit of taste. I speak to the guy at the supermarket who assures me that both the spring onions and the ajinomoto will be there tomorrow by eleven. I tell him I will need a large quantity and request him to keep it aside for me and to give me a call as soon as it comes. I also take his phone number, and give him a missed call to ensure that I indeed have noted his number right. I am so nervous that I make sure of taking care of every possible contingency, as I want to leave nothing to chance.
This is truly a huge opportunity for me and I so want to make good of it.
Akash finally manages to arrive only at eleven thirty in the night.
He looks at the paraphernalia in the drawing room and whistles.
‘Impressive,’ he says.
‘Terrifying,’ I respond.
‘Don’t worry, Nisha, it will all go smoothly, like a knife through hot butter,’ he says.
But despite his ready assurances, I sleep an uneasy sleep.
Early next morning, I wake up Akash with a cup of coffee. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and says, ‘Whoa, Nisha, what time is it?’
‘It’s 7.30 a.m., you lazy bum. Get up now. We have to go and get the spring onions and ajinomoto. I have already started chopping the vegetables.’
‘Relax Nisha, we have plenty of time to get it all sorted. And we have to be there only at 7.15 in the evening.’
‘Yeah, but I am wearing a saree, and I need at least an hour to get ready after spending the whole day in the kitchen. I don’t want to smell like the food I am cooking!’
He laughs, and we both go to the balcony to have our coffee.
Mrs B rings our doorbell just as we are finishing our coffee.
‘Do you need help, my dear?’ she asks.
This time she looks at Akash and smiles and he wishes her a good morning.
I really would have appreciated help. But the thing is, in Chinese cooking, chopping the ingredients just right plays a major part in the taste of the dish. The carrots have to be sliced just so, longitudinally. If one messes up with the cutting, one messes up with the dish. I had explained all this to Akash and he had understood and confessed that he knew nothing when it came to cooking, and he couldn’t cut vegetables even for Indian cooking, let alone for Chinese.
But I don’t feel like explaining all this to Mrs B because if she chops the vegetables wrong, my dish would be spoilt. So I tell her it is okay. Mrs B graciously understands and tells me to ring her doorbell if the kids are getting in the way of the preparations.
She is a real sweetheart. I thank her profusely and she waves me away.
Akash says that he can manage to make fried eggs and toast for both of us and I ask him to do just that.
I have washed piles of carrot and have scraped them all. I sit cross-legged on the floor with my cutting-board and begin chopping.
An hour later half of the chopping is done, but Rohit and Tanya have now woken up.
So I ask Akash to fix Tanya her breakfast and I get busy feeding Rohit, after which I give him a hurried bath.
Tanya is excited about all of it. So is Akash. I am just plain nervous.
Finally it is Rohit’s naptime, and I make him sleep, so I can resume my cooking in peace.
Tanya sees how tense I am and she does her best to comfort me, saying, ‘Don’t worry, Mummy, I will watch over Rohit.’
I kiss her and thank her.
Akash asks me what I want help with. To be honest, there is nothing he can do really. He cannot chop, and unless I finish all the chopping, I can’t cook. So I tell him to organize lunch for all of us. I tell him to order whatever he wants from a restaurant nearby and he tells me he will take care of it.
I also tell him to connect my gas cylinder to the stove we have hired and fill water in the huge vessel so that we can boil the noodles. Akash does that, as I get busy breaking the noodle cakes into large chunks, and when the water starts heating up, I drop them all in.
Tanya has brought along her book 365 Stories for Children and asks Akash if he will read it to her. Akash, as usual, willingly complies.
I watch and smile as she happily climbs into his lap, and he begins reading to her about a very naughty monkey who just would not mind his business. I find it amusing to see Akash reading aloud a children’s book and smile at the domesticity of this whole scene.
Suddenly, there is a very loud THUD somewhere close by, and it almost makes me drop my knife in fright. It is followed by an ear-shattering wail.
‘Oh my God,
Rohit,’ I scream, as I throw the knife aside, jump up, and rush to the bedroom. The sight I see almost makes me faint.
Straight to Nowhere
Rohit is sprawled on the floor on his stomach, with a porcelain pen stand shattered around him. There is blood gushing out from his arm where shrapnel from the pen stand is still lodged. And there is a gash at the back of his head from where blood is spurting out.
It takes me less than a few seconds to figure out that Rohit must have woken up, crawled on to the table next to the bed, and must have tried to stand up on it, in the process of which he toppled over.
It takes all my will power to control myself from crying out loud.
Akash and Tanya have followed me, and Tanya screams seeing the blood. I am frozen in shock, even though I have picked up Rohit and am trying to calm him.
Akash is right beside me saying, ‘Nisha, there is this piece still lodged in his hand.’
‘Yes, I know.’ I can barely speak.
Rohit is screaming his head off in pain. My eyes fill with tears at the pain he must be going through. But this is no time to be a sissy, and so I tell Akash to hold Rohit. Akash sits down on the bed and I place the bawling Rohit on his lap. I tell Akash to hold tight and not let go.
I then pull out the piece of crockery wedged in his hand. Rohit leans back and screams with the pain, and Akash’s white t-shirt is now full of blood from the back of Rohit’s head.
‘We need to rush to the hospital. Quickly ring Mrs B’s bell so that we can leave Tanya there for the time being,’ he says. It is hard to hear what he is saying because Rohit is screaming so loudly. Tanya has placed both her hands over her ears and is looking at me like a frightened rabbit.
‘I want to come to the hospital, Mama,’ says Tanya. But this is no time to reason with her or make her understand.
‘Tanya, no arguments, please? Just do as I tell you. You are staying in Mrs B’s house,’ I say as I carry Rohit outside while Akash reaches for his car keys.
Mrs B is shocked to see all the blood. She tells us not to worry about Tanya and simply speed to the hospital.
Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake Page 14