Chapter 10 #2
Two steel plates of steaming pizzas were placed in front of them.
The waft of butter was heavenly, and when Amaal observed closely, she realised it was pizza made over a naan, served with a gravy of chane, onions and green chutney.
Her mouth watered. She couldn’t wait to let it cool down.
The naan was cut into four pieces, so she attacked one triangle like a hungry lion.
It pulled off with strings of cheese and kept going.
“Oooh….” she broke it with a bite in between and threw her mouth open — “Fuck fuc… fuuuu!” She fanned her mouth. “Ooooo… haw… haw…”
He passed her a tissue, and she immediately spat the morsel out in it like a caveman, airing her mouth. She looked at Samar — “Sorry, this was so hot but it’s so good… what is this cheese? Bhaiya, andar mozzarella cheese dala kya?[40]” She hollered to the cook.
“Kaladi hai, Madam. Jammu ka local mozzarella![41]” He laughed. She split the naan open, and the kaladi inside burst out like mozzarella, but smelling even better. Real milky, with sour savoury hints. She blew this time, hard and slow, and carefully took a bite. Heaven.
“Wow!” She threw her head back. Naan, kaladi, onions, capsicum, pizza sauce…
she spooned some chane, blew on them and stuffed them into her mouth.
“Wow!” She dipped her spoon in the liquid green chutney and added to the party inside her mouth and closed her lips to keep it all in.
She didn’t have words to describe the feeling.
When she looked up from her food, Samar was quietly eating, eyes out on the street.
But even his bland company could not lessen this experience.
“Kya banaya hai, Bhaiya!” She waved at him. “Je baat![42]”
The cook was grinning. At least somebody was as happy as her.
————————————————————
Next, Samar drove across town to Dogra Chowk, as if the second course of their meal was pending. The sun had set by the time they parked, and the place, another small shop, was brimming with customers.
“Sharmaji ke Rajma Chawal,” she read the board. “I don’t know if I can eat anything more.”
“Hmm.” He cut the engine and double parked right outside the chaos, people getting their steel plates piled high with rice and covered with red, angry rajma. As he got out to still get himself a plate, Amaal quickly added — “Maybe a little. Not the full plate.”
He nodded, not even turning properly. She exited the car and rounded to the hood, leaning her bum on it.
The footpath gave her a good anchor, and she stepped up, balancing herself nicely, absorbing the summer evening of Jammu with traffic noises, rajma scents and people chirping like the happiest hyenas.
But then, food made everybody happy. Amaal realised then that her cramps had settled.
Was it because of the carbs, a general happy mood, or just being out, she couldn’t pinpoint.
But she made a mental note to start moving around when these excruciating cramps struck her again, as they inevitably would in a couple of months.
A plate came under her chin. She grasped it with both hands before it wobbled.
It was heavy, the angry-looking rajma steaming up.
She glanced up, and he was standing in front of her, mixing the rice in his plate and spooning up morsels.
If this was his favourite food, it didn’t show on his face as he ate, looking at the road. Amaal found herself hooked.
A man, straightforward, people-watching and eating on a busy road.
It felt too intimate to see him eat. And yet…
she could not not see it. She could not even unsee it now.
The visual would always live inside her.
He set his spoon down and picked up a slice of onion, popping it into his mouth, chewing.
A breath went in long and apparent. And his eyes moving around the place, came to her.
Amaal startled. He eyed her plate, still untouched.
She picked up her spoon and began mixing — “It’s really hot. ”
“Hmm.”
“Can I transfer half of this to you?” She held her plate up. “I cannot eat everything.”
Without a word, he lowered his plate, and she pushed most of her rice and rajma on his quickly emptying plate. She also pushed the onions and pickle, leaving only a single slice for herself. He went back to eating. And she took a bite.
The rajma was smooth and thick and really creamy, the rice a steaming, rich Basmati. She registered it, but even with her eyes on her food, she only saw Samar, eyeing the world around him, eating quietly.
————————————————————
The night was falling fast, and the city was coming alive with eateries and recreational traffic. The air had cooled. And just when she thought this was it, that they were going back to the headquarters, Samar surprised her again.
He parked the car on a sidewalk in the middle of the main road.
“Do you want ice cream?”
“Where?” She began to check the line of shops glowing across the road.
“There.” He pointed to the small man sitting with a red box under a tree, just outside her window.
“Kulfi?”
“It’s not kulfi. He makes it with desi khoya and sugar.”
Amaal did not want the night to end. And who said no to ice cream when they were on their period?
“Yes.”
They got off again, this time walking together to the ice cream seller instead of just him going in and ordering.
“Kaunse flavours hai, Bhaiya?[43]” She asked, checking around him.
All he had was one big pot covered in newspapers, set on a red box.
It read ‘Malai barf’ in Hindi. He was old, and his hands shuddered as he set them on the pot and pushed to his feet.
He looked at her through his half-hooded, wrinkled eyes — “Ek hi flavour milta hai yaha pe.[44]” He grinned a toothless grin.
“Do laga dijiye[45],” Samar said.
Amaal observed as he took a long knife, opened his pot and started slicing what looked like a whole rock of ice cream.
He collected the slices in a bowl of dried leaves and set them on his weighing scale.
He then chopped it into even smaller pieces, buried a wooden spoon in and handed it to her.
She waited for him to make Samar’s bowl, bringing the ice cream close to her nose for a whiff. Milk, cardamom and cold air. Lovely.
“Ye lo, betaji.[46]” The old man raised his bowl to Samar, and a streak of headlights fell right on Samar’s face. The old man’s shuddering hand froze. “Daaxsaab?”
Samar immediately set his hand under the old man’s, picking the bowl up. And then, his eyes softened, his mouth spreading in a small smile — “Ram Ram, Panditji.”
“Ram Ram, Ram Ram,” his hunched back straightened, his mouth grinning. “Ghar aa gaye?[47]”
“Aata-jaata rehta hoon. Aapki aankhein kaisi hai?[48]”
Panditji smiled, waving him off with his hand, then glancing at her — “Chalti rehti hai. Aapki patni hai?[49]” He asked Samar.
Amaal’s breath hitched. She glanced at Samar but he didn’t even skip a beat before answering — “Saath kaam karti hai.[50]”
Panditji laughed. “Kha lo isse pehle pighal jaaye, phir dusri lagata hoon.[51]”
Samar’s smile widened at him. And Amaal couldn’t see anything else under the tiny street light illuminating that impervious face.
His smile was so childlike. And when he scooped a piece of ice cream and stuffed it into his mouth, that puffing of his cheeks was so innocent.
His gaze came to her, and the smile melted.
He tipped his chin at her bowl. She nodded, scooping a piece and biting into it.
“Ummm… bohot acchi hai, Panditji.[52]”
“Achhi lagi na? Asli desi khoye se banti hai. Khao, khao, garmi mein issi se taakat aati hai.[53]”
“Main puri dukaan kha jaaoongi.[54]”
He wheezed out a laugh. “Dusri lagata hoon.[55]”
“Nahi, bas![56]”
“Meri ek laga dijiye.[57]” Samar’s deep voice slid into their conversation, as did his hand, with his empty bowl. It was filled in no time, without being weighed this time, and Samar had to stop him from adding more.
After they were done eating, a long tussle ensued between them about payment. Panditji wouldn’t accept Samar’s money, and Samar wouldn’t let him push it back into his pocket.
“Aap se paise loonga, Daaxsaab?[58]”
“Lene toh padenge.[59]”
Amaal snorted, seeing the bossy side of Samar. Usually, he did not express it.
“Bilkul nahi![60]”
“Panditji…”
She reached inside her purse from the open car window, took out the cash and slid it under Panditji’s pot while he was turned away, arguing with Samar. She saw Samar note it, and his hand instantly pulled back from arguing.
“Theek hai.[61]” He slid his notes back into his pocket. Panditji grinned, patting his arm.
“Phir kab aayenge?[62]” He asked her.
“Kashmir lautne se pehle zaroor aayenge[63],” she promised, opening her side of the car door and settling inside. Samar got in, started the car, turned the wheel, and then pushed his head towards her window. She pasted herself back into her seat, feeling him so close.
“Panditji?” He called out.
“Haan?”
“Matke ke niche dekh lijiyega.[64]”
Amaal held back her laugh as the old man patted blindly, finding her money. He began to open his mouth to scold them when Samar pressed on the accelerator and raced it out of there, laughing softly. She couldn’t hold back now and broke into proud giggles, throwing her head back.
“What is this 'Daaxsaab?” She asked between hiccups.
“Dactar saab. Somebody started it in SFF and it stuck.”
“Adil calls you that sometimes, too.”
“Hmm. It’s changing now.”
“Becoming Samar Bhaiya?” She turned towards him.
“Hmm.”
“Why wouldn’t he take money from you?”
“Old acquaintance.”
“Did you help him or treat him?”
“Long ago.”
“Help or treat?”
“Treat.” He brought the car to a halt at a red signal. His profile was hard again, impervious.
“Do I need to always ply answers out of you by the power of deduction?”
“Hmm.”
“Someday I will kill this ‘hmm’ that you keep using to end perfectly fine conversations.”
His chest made a sound. Was it an amused sound?
“What did you treat him for?”
“Eyes.”
“You did it for free?”
“Hm…”
“Wrong, wrong. You took money from him or did it for free?”
“Free.”
The signal turned green, and he sped out of there like her questions were chasing him. Amaal smirked, observing him driving down the road and out of the city towards their party headquarters. The city lights slowly began to lose their shine as dark trees were illuminated by soft street lamps.
A beast of an olive green car was driving towards them and passed them in a blur.
“What a car.” She turned in her seat until she could see it go. Big, rugged, with the spare wheel mounted on the back. She was a Mini Cooper kind of girl herself, but what fun to watch these beasts!
“It’s just a Thar.”
Amaal was surprised at his non-nudged response. So she kept it going.
“But it’s gorgeous.”
“Hmm.”
She sighed. Just when she thought he would start talking…
Amaal glared at him. “Did you take me out to eat carbs just because you have to keep a watch on me?”
“Watch out for you,” he corrected.
“Yes, the same.”
“Are your cramps better?”
“Yes…” she began to search for her hot water bag. It had fallen off to the floor, now cooled. She bent to grab it.
“Samar?”
“Hmm?”
“Why do you have a hot water bag?”
“I have it.”
“Do you have the entire medical store in your bag?”
“Hmm.”
“Pads too?” She threw in.
“No. Do you want to get some?”
Amaal gaped, speechless.
“How do I rattle you, Samar?”
He did not respond, as was expected. The car turned into the compound of the KDP Headquarters and he parked outside the building entryway. Amaal opened the door, stepped one foot out, then turned to him.
“Thank you, you were good company today,” she said. “And I don’t mean it in a sarcastic way.”
“Hmm.”
She smiled. He didn’t.
Amaal hoisted her purse straps over her shoulder, picked up his hot water bag and got out.
As she walked up and into the atrium, she felt the zipper of her purse pinching into her skin.
When she went to close it, she found it half open, the ice cream money that he had slid into his pocket now in her purse.
She whirled. His car was long gone. Amaal stared into the black distance. What was she getting herself into?