‘Abhimanyu?’ Pakhi’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.
‘Hmmm?’ he said, not taking his eyes off the road.
‘I asked you something,’ she snapped irritably.
‘I’m sorry, Pakhi,’ he said softly. ‘Could you repeat your question?’
‘Oh my God!’ She threw her hands up dramatically.
‘When did you have the car seat installed?’ she asked him again.
‘I didn’t have it installed, Pakhi,’ he replied. ‘I installed it myself.’
‘You what?’
‘Arre!’ Now he was getting irritated too. ‘Why is this such a shock to you?’
‘I … I…’ Pakhi struggled to find the right words to express her surprise. But she couldn’t and just said, ‘Nothing.’
20
The restaurant was packed to the rafters. They had to decline people’s requests for reservations. Rajat Shergill stood at the threshold of the kitchen and for the first time in his life wondered if his boss had turned senile.
A cooking workshop for children?
Yes, Boss has definitely lost his mind.
Abhimanyu was unaware of his manager’s wayward thoughts as he showed a bunch of kids how to make their own pasta.
‘You have to be very gentle, OK? No quick movements. Araam se,’ he said as he walked past their tiny stations, overseeing their progress. It was the fourth and final day of the workshop. He couldn’t get over how much he’d enjoyed himself. Working with children was therapeutic, Pakhi had once told him. And he couldn’t agree more.
When she’d first come up with the idea for a children’s cooking workshop, he’d been very sceptical and had said as much.
‘Pakhi, I don’t know,’ he’d said.
‘What are you talking about, Abhimanyu?’ she’d replied, her voice mirroring her excitement. ‘Have you seen how you are around Abhithi? You’re like a child yourself! You installed a car seat all by yourself, for crying out loud.’
And that was how he’d agreed to do the workshop. It had taken them a month to roll it out. The workshop was for children between the ages of seven and twelve. They divided the days into segments focusing on childhood classics, fingerfoods, quick-fix bites, Mom’s specials and Abhi’s favourites.
The last segment was Abhimanyu’s favourite, not just because of the name alone but because the segment had both his and Abhithi’s favourites. Up until Pakhi had suggested this segment, Abhimanyu’s heart wasn’t in the planning.
‘What about doing something like Abhi’s favourites? This could be all the items you and Abhithi enjoy. And taking into account your mutual love for hot chocolate, I’m sure we can find a lot more common ground between you two.’
His heart had done a somersault on hearing her words. He’d loved the way she’d put him and Abhithi together and had immediately agreed.
When they’d held the first session of the workshop, Abhimanyu had insisted on Pakhi bringing Abhithi to the restaurant. Even though Abhithi couldn’t participate in the workshop, he’d wanted her by his side.
Unbeknownst to him, the mothers of the participating children had lost their hearts to him. They couldn’t get over the way a grown man, sporting long hair and a beard, played so attentively with a three-year-old. He would laugh at the smallest of things the little girl did. They loved the way his eyes twinkled whenever he spotted her and the way he would smile when she hugged him. Each of the mothers made a mental note to have a word with their husbands. Perhaps Abhimanyu Dev could conduct a workshop on ‘How to Be the Perfect Dad’.
‘OK, kids. Who wants to make some tiramisu?’ Pakhi asked the group of excited children. The last two hours of every segment were Pakhi’s. She covered desserts and Indian sweetmeats.
She’d kept tiramisu, or the virgin tiramisu as Abhimanyu liked to call it because she wouldn’t be using Italian Marsala or rum, for the last day because she knew it was a crowd pleaser. Since even the fathers of the participating children would be coming in today, the dessert would definitely be well received.
Pakhi was overseeing the use of the coffee machine, when she heard one of the mothers say, ‘Wow! I wish my husband played with my daughter like Abhimanyu plays with Abhithi.’
Another sighed and said, ‘Really, Sidara. My husband does spend time with the kids, but not like Abhimanyu. He really dotes on his daughter, doesn’t he?’
Pakhi almost dropped the Pyrex tray that had ladyfingers dipped in coffee.
Daughter? Did these women think Abhithi was Abhimanyu’s daughter? Did they also think Pakhi was his wife?
Why did that thought make her go all warm inside?
‘That was a wonderful workshop,’ Abhimanyu said as they bid their goodbyes to the last set of children and parents. ‘I can’t believe I lasted four days with thirty children. I deserve an award!’
Pakhi laughed. ‘See! Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Yes, you did, Ms Mehra.’ He deposited Abhithi in her highchair and said, ‘We should do this regularly.’
Pakhi stared at him, mouth agape. From the kitchen, a soundwave of gasps followed by cover-up coughs flowed out.
‘Very funny, boys,’ he called out. ‘Perhaps I should feed you all some leftover virgin tiramisu.’
Pakhi glared at him. ‘Stop dissing my dessert without even tasting it.’
‘I’ve tasted your dessert, Pakhi,’ Abhimanyu whispered, so that only she could hear.
‘What?’ Pink sauce splattered everywhere.
‘What?’ he asked, the model of innocence.
She quickly stole a glance at Abhithi who was busy playing with the abacus on her highchair.
‘Yes, Pakhi,’ Abhimanyu’s said. ‘A three-year-old can fully understand innuendo.’
‘That was innuendo?’ she asked him.
‘And clearly twenty-eight-year-olds find it difficult to follow,’ he declared.
‘I’m not twenty-eight,’ she replied, mutiny in her eyes.
‘You will be in a week, Ms Mehra,’ he teased, his eyes dancing wickedly.
‘If I die tomorrow, will my obituary read twenty-seven-yearold or twenty-eight-year-old?’ she teased him back.
And just like that, the mirth disappeared.
‘Shut up, Pakhi!’ Abhimanyu’s voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. How else was he supposed to react?
‘So what are we getting Pakhi for her birthday?’
Abhimanyu jolted awake. He switched on the light in the living room to find his grandfather sitting in his chintz armchair.
‘For God’s sake, old man! It’s 3 a.m.,’ he said, trying to breathe normally again.
‘Ah! Thank you for letting me know, Abhimanyu,’ Daji returned. ‘Now answer my question.
‘Now isn’t the time,’ Abhimanyu snapped. ‘I’m tired and I want to go to bed.’
‘And I’m ninety-six-years old. I may not live to see tomorrow,’ Daji was quick to respond.
That was it! ‘What … the hell is wrong with you people?’ Abhimanyu bellowed. ‘Just stop talking about all this dying bullshit.’ Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the living room.
Daji watched his grandson’s retreating back and wondered if the boy was losing his mind. He pulled out his wallet from the pocket of his kurta and took out a small, old photo which was tucked behind a credit card.
‘See, Maalti. Your grandson seems to have something up his bum,’ Daji chuckled. ‘I miss you, my darling. You would have been able to help him express himself. I try, you know. But he’s as stubborn as I am.’ As an afterthought he added, ‘Don’t tell him I said that.’
Abhimanyu paced the length of his room, fretting and fuming. First Pakhi, now Daji. He needed to knock some sense into these people.
This was one topic that always made him uncomfortable. Having lost his parents when he was a young boy, Abhimanyu still hadn’t learned to cope with loss. In all his years, he hadn’t allowed any woman close enough for him to feel the loss when they parted.
When Abhithi had be
en kidnapped, it was as if his worst nightmares had come to life. To him, she was his little girl and would always remain so. He couldn’t imagine a day without her now.
In the last one month, things had changed between him and Pakhi. Abhimanyu couldn’t recall a time before Pakhi had walked into his life when he’d felt the need to look after another person, let alone take care of another person’s needs. Daji was family and he didn’t count really.
But having said that, Abhimanyu acknowledged the effort it had taken him to make the adjustment. He knew he wasn’t easy to be around. He knew that Pakhi had to initially learn to adjust to his ways. But then he’d relented over time and learnt to adjust to hers too. Never in his life had he played a guide and taken a woman around a city as he had taken Pakhi around in Kolkata and Jaipur.
So why wasn’t he admitting his feelings to her? Why was he still hesitating? Was it because he feared he would lose her? Was it because he feared she didn’t feel the same way about him? At this point, what did he have to lose?
And for the first time, Abhimanyu had an answer to that question. He stood to lose everything.
But there was only one way to find out.
It was time to rip off the band-aid.
On the morning of her twenty-eighth birthday, Pakhi woke up early. In fact, she had barely slept the night, busy as she had been answering phone calls and text messages from family and friends. Abhimanyu had called her exactly at midnight and quickly wished her. The restaurant had been crowded that night because of the weekend. He’d insisted Pakhi leave early for some unknown reason.
As she combed Abhithi’s curls and struggled to restrain them with a scrunchie, her mind wandered to the first time she’d met Abhimanyu. They hadn’t started off on good terms, but over time, they’d made up for that. Sure they’d had their fair share of ups and downs, but they’d always managed to find a way back to each other.
Way back to each other?
In the last one month, there had been numerous instances when she’d almost laid her heart bare in front of him. But at the last moment, she would pull back. It wasn’t because she wasn’t sure whether he felt the same way about her. It was because she worried that every step taken towards Abhimanyu may be a step away from Abhithi. She knew they were both very fond of each other. But was that enough? Could she saddle Abhimanyu with Abhithi for life?
Pakhi acknowledged that she could not live without either of them. Abhithi’s laughter and Abhimanyu’s love were her lifelines. Yes, she loved him. There was no point in denying it any longer. In fact, she’d embraced this truth that night in ACP Shrikanth’s office.
The buzzing off her mobile phone brought her back to present day reality. Right. I’m twenty-eight now.
‘Thank you, Daji,’ Pakhi replied to the old man’s wishes. ‘Yes, I will come by this evening for sure,’ she assured him and ended the call.
Daji was another person who’d become an indispensable part of her life. She met him almost every other day now. While preparing for the children’s workshop, she and Abhimanyu would work later than usual, and would more often than not have to listen to Daji’s admonishments as he walked into the restaurant well past midnight to remind them that chefs needed to eat as well.
She fastened the last of the buttons on the back of Abhithi’s frock and said, ‘OK, princess. Ready to go?’
‘Ooaa!’ Abhithi squealed delightedly. Although Abhithi could now articulate the letter ‘B’, Pakhi didn’t correct the little girl when she called her ‘Ooaa’.
She knew where they were going. ‘Abhi-Abhi time,’ she said. Abhimanyu had coined the term when he and Abhithi had spent a few hours just by themselves. Pakhi had been conducting a master class programme for IHM students, and he’d taken Abhithi to the park and the beach.
‘Yes, you’ll meet your Abhi soon,’ Pakhi smiled.
A little voice in her head chimed – he could be your Abhi too!
21
The kitchen door was locked.
What the hell!
‘Abhimanyu? Rajat?’ Pakhi called out. She deposited Abhithi in the highchair which had now become hers every time she visited the restaurant.
‘Where is everybody?’ Pakhi muttered under her breath. As she made sure the belt was not chafing against Abhithi’s thigh, the little girl gave a delighted squeal, ‘Abhiloveyou.’
‘Yes, Abhi loves Abhi too.’ Pakhi heard Abhimanyu’s voice behind her. She turned around to see him walking towards her. He was dressed in formals – black trousers, crisp white shirt and black handmade leather shoes. The heat had forced him to roll up his sleeves. His hair was pulled back into his usual ponytail. She knew where he was coming from. Today was the day.
‘Hello, baby girl,’ he said to Abhithi when he reached them. She bounced up and down in her seat, pointed at the frills on her dress and told him, ‘Abhi, new dress, see.’
‘Ah! My little princess,’ Abhimanyu said, and kissed her on her forehead.
Pakhi watched this exchange between the two of them and her heart melted.
Abhimanyu then turned his attention to her as he whispered, ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart.’ He gave her a chaste kiss on the top of her head. It was a small gesture but to Pakhi, it meant the world. She leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. She felt his arms go around her, pulling her closer to him.
He’d been a rock by her side when she’d needed him the most. She didn’t have enough words to express her gratitude to him. But she also knew words were not necessary. She knew he didn’t want her gratitude. He’d done it all for her and Abhithi.
Her heart somersaulted at the epiphany that struck her out of nowhere. All this time she’d been thinking Abhimanyu would not be able to make place for both her and Abhithi in his life. But he’d already done that, even before she’d asked him to.
She looked up at him then, her eyes brimming with love, and whispered, ‘Thank you.’ He lowered his head and she knew he was going to kiss her. She’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. The last time he’d kissed her had been at the police station.
But Abhithi chose that moment to make her presence felt to them. ‘Ooaa kissie Abhiloveyou,’ she squeaked, making Pakhi jumped out of Abhimanyu’s arms.
He threw his head back and laughed and for the thousandth time Pakhi wondered at the marvel.
‘Thank you, Little Miss Observant,’ he told Abhithi, and she laughed as though she understood him perfectly.
Pakhi laughed too.
‘Any particular reason why I’ve been locked out of my kitchen?’ she asked him.
‘Ah, Ms Mehra,’ he began smoothly. ‘Why do you want to know everything?’
Pakhi frowned at his noncommittal response. ‘Arre, what’s with all the secrecy?’
‘No secrecy, Ms Mehra,’ Abhimanyu retorted immediately. ‘The boys are up to something, I guess.’
‘You guess?’ Pakhi’s voice grew higher. ‘You mean you’ve been locked out too?’
‘Yes,’ he muttered, and glared at the kitchen door.
Pakhi laughed despite herself. ‘Look at this! The great Abhimanyu Dev, masterchef, has been barred from entering his own kitchen. What’d you do, Abhimanyu? Did you threaten them with a kadhai?’
‘I did that once, Pakhi. And I thought you weren’t in the kitchen,’ Abhimanyu said sheepishly.
‘I walked in just in time to witness you making culinary history by threatening to deep fry your junior chefs,’ she teased him.
‘Oh, dear God!’ he moaned. ‘Let it go, woman.’
‘Oh, all right,’ Pakhi relented. ‘But I really need them to open the door now. I have to get started on tonight’s buffet menu.’
‘OK, hang on,’ Abhimanyu said and walked to the kitchen door. ‘Maybe I will actually get to deep fry them.’
The staff had prepared a spread of all of Pakhi’s favourite dishes – the ones she’d taught them to make and some of Abhimanyu’s specialties, which they knew she loved.
The cake, however,
was a sight to behold. It was a heart-shaped rainbow cake with the words ‘Happy Birthday, Pakhi’ written in icing and had cake-pops with wings and beaks. Pakhi surmised it was their idea of a theme revolving around the meaning of her name.
‘Thank you, you guys. This is so sweet of you.’ She hugged each of them, and they all fed her a piece of cake.
‘Why is it that my birthday is never celebrated with such enthusiasm?’ Abhimanyu asked his staff.
‘You see, Boss,’ Rajat said, ‘Pakhi doesn’t threaten to roast or boil or deep fry us.’
‘I see,’ Abhimanyu replied in a menacing tone. And for a second, the smiles across the kitchen faltered.
Pakhi stepped in and said, ‘You guys, he’s just kidding!’ And very quietly, without anybody noticing, she pinched Abhimanyu on his arm. ‘Aren’t you, Abhimanyu?’ she asked for everyone to hear.
‘Ow!’ He muttered. But looking at the anxious faces in his kitchen, he said, ‘Yes, yes. Of course I was.’
After some more cake and apple juice (Abhimanyu had a strict no-alcohol-in-the-kitchen policy), the staff went back to their stations.
Pakhi was perusing the dessert section of the evening’s menu when Abhimanyu came up behind her and asked softly, ‘Pakhi, will you come with me, please?’
Putting the menu down, she turned around and asked, ‘Where to?’
‘Just come,’ he said.
He unstrapped Abhithi from her highchair and picked her up.
‘Pakhi, the place I want to take you to isn’t suitable for Abhithi,’ he told her as she picked up her handbag from her table.
‘What do you mean?’ Pakhi asked him.
‘You’ll know soon enough,’ he said. ‘Could we drop her at the hotel crèche? Mrs Patil is very good with children. You know that, right?’
‘Umm … yes, Abhimanyu. I know Mrs Patil is good. She takes care of Abhithi when I bring her to work during the weekends. But why are you saying all this?’ Pakhi was confused.
Served with Love Page 13