Chapter 14
— NILAY —
As always, Nilay found himself parked and waiting for her twenty minutes in advance.
He didn’t know when it happened, but the habit of being before time for his private matters had always been ingrained in him.
At work, he always made entries fashionably late.
For himself… he was always early. Be it his cardiologist appointments or… Ritu.
He checked his watch and raised his eyes, and there she was, running down the street, glancing over her shoulder like she was being followed. He laughed, unlocking the car. She slipped inside and tapped his dashboard — “Go, go, go!”
“Are we being chased?” He intoned, turning the wheel and merging with the Carter Road traffic.
“No! But Maya came out to wave.”
“How did you convince them not to go and drop you?”
“I told them I wanted to walk home and burn off the dinner.”
“What was dinner?”
“You will salivate.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Full Gujarati fare. Kadhi, pulav, khandvi…”
“Stop, stop,” he groaned. “Don’t talk about it. I haven’t had dinner yet.”
“What? It’s 9.30, Nilay!”
“I know. I had two meetings to get to and didn’t want to eat out.”
“Then what? Will your cook have made dinner?”
“I will go home and make it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t employ cooks.”
“Really?”
He pulled up outside a Gelato place that was recently hyped on Instagram. But she clicked her seatbelt on.
“What?” He turned to her. “You want me to get it in the car?”
“No. We are first going and eating dinner.”
“I don’t want to eat out, Ritu.”
“It’s alright. You can eat out, just make the right choices.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then?”
“I don’t enjoy outside food as much. I mean… I am a hardcore eater. I would devour the hell out of some good heavy Punjabi dishes, naan, dal fry, rice. Most of the places I have my work meetings at are just…”
“Bland?” She completed.
“Yes. Sushi and Italian and ramen,” he scowled. “And I don’t want to eat heavy gravies until this is sorted,” he patted his chest.
“So?”
“So I will go home and make myself vagharelo rotlo.”
“What’s that?”
“I have bajra rotla in the fridge, I’ll make a one-pot meal out of it, with dahi and guvaar. It’s really tasty, and filling, and healthy…”
Her face split into a smile.
“Why are you smiling at me like I am crazy?”
“Not crazy, but you are definitely sweet.”
“Sweet enough to have ice cream with?”
She shrugged — “Maybe. But not here.” She pointed with her eyebrows.
“Then?”
“Drive, I’ll show you.”
————————————————————
Nilay was in a whole different world. She had made him drive to Santacruz, taken him into a hole-in-the-wall ice cream shop named Gokul, and asked him to pick one scoop of his favourite flavour.
But while he had gone for tasting, she had repeatedly nudged him towards Sitafal.
Of course, he had ordered Sitafal then. She had ordered a Malai-Dark-Choco-Chips cup.
He didn’t know what that was because she had gotten their orders packed.
“After your dinner.”
And that’s how he found himself in his house, chopping onions, ginger and garlic while she sat on the platform.
“Stay away now,” he warned, heating up the oil.
“I have never heard about old rotli made into a one-pot meal.”
“You will eat it now.” He threw the ginger-garlic mince into the oil and inhaled the fumes. His mother used to add freshly pounded green chillies too. But he had cut down on the spice lately.
“How will it become one pot? Roti and vegetables sautéed together?”
“Quiet, Doctor.”
She harrumphed, her eyes on his as he reached for the stack of bajra rotis from one day ago.
His mother always said that old rotis were great for the body.
Now, with his recent scare, he was reading up a whole thesis on how overnight carbs like rice and roti could cut down sugar spikes in the blood by more than half.
“Did you cook every day with your mother?”
“I didn’t cook, mostly just hovered around,” Nilay recollected, tearing the crumbling bajra rotis into fine pieces. He rubbed them between his palms to make fine dust. “I would chop vegetables for her, stir when she was busy doing something, discuss recipes with her…” he smiled.
“What was she like?”
“She was amazing. Very soft-natured, but when she got angry, oh man, she got angry. Daddy didn’t stand a chance against her.”
When the fumes died down in the pot, he reached for the bowl of curd and threw it in.
“Whaaa?!” Ritu startled back. “Curd? Are you making kadhi?”
“Watch.”
He stirred the fragrant mix, then started to add the spices. The basics. Red chilli powder, turmeric, dhaniya-jeera, salt.
“You have a proper mother’s masala dabba also,” she pointed, sounding oddly proud.
“Why wouldn’t I? I cook regularly, Ritu.”
“Where do you get the time?”
He stirred the curd gravy, then added the guvar fali that he had cooked separately.
“I used to usually make my meal in the morning before leaving. Mostly, I would eat a lunch-like brunch and go, and leave something like this in the fridge to come and make late at night. This or masala khichdi. My ultimate. With khichya papadi.”
“No papad and papadi for a while.”
“I know, Doctor.”
When the curd came to a simmer, he slowly added the crumbled rotla. And in a few seconds, the gravy became as thick as porridge. The fragrance was unbelievable. He ate this twice a week and still couldn’t get enough of it.
“Smell,” he took a ladleful to her and she inhaled.
“I can already smell it; your entire kitchen smells delicious. If I hadn’t eaten to bursting at Maya’s, I would have finished this entire pot.”
“I am not letting you go until you do that.”
“My mother would be so proud of me if I ever cooked like this. Alas, my cooking skills are limited to sandwiches, readymade-sauce pastas, salad and soups.”
“How do you survive on that stuff?”
“I make do… Hey, do you know I discovered a secret today?”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“NiP is a complete desi at heart.” She chortled.
“Don’t dent my image. They think I survive on half a kebab and soup for dinner.”
“And why would you let them think that?”
He ladled the vagharelo rotlo into two bowls even though she had declined. She would eat it. He knew she would.
“This industry is crazy, Ritu. They survive on drugs, smokes and alcohol. Nobody wants to eat. The food is abysmal, believe me. And I have been living here for the last 20 years. If I show this side of me, I wouldn’t get half the worship that I do.”
“So, then, who knows this side of you?”
“No one.”
He handed her a bowl and took one for himself. In the flow of the conversation, she took a bite. And her eyes widened. “Wow!”
He smirked, taking a bite — “Didn’t you ever learn to cook from your mother?”
She shrugged — “We had maids and Maharaj for that. I think three… yes, there were three of them. A joint family, so many people. A 6 bedroom house. I don’t think I ever went to the kitchen except to get something from the fridge.
And then America hit hard. To do everything on my own, fend for my own food.
Money was not a problem, but how do you make something good out of all the great ingredients that money has bought? ”
“Didn’t your mother come with you to settle you there?”
“She did, but…” Ritu ate, chewed, taking a pause. “We were distant by then. I channeled all my anger on her, for being so subdued to my father, for being silent, for taking me out of my home instead of…”
“We can forget about it.”
She smiled, glancing into her bowl. “Hey! Cheater, you made me eat this!”
“You liked it.”
“And I will burst now.”
“No you won’t. There’s still ice cream to go. And tomorrow I will make…”
“Tomorrow,” she rolled her eyes.
“Why that reaction?”
“I might be shifting back to Maya’s house.”
“No you are not.” He set his bowl down.
“This was one of her crazy experiments to stop me from leaving early…”
“Leaving?” His blood went cold.
Ritu shook her head. “I came here for this long because I am between jobs. I just finished at St. Jude’s Medical Centre. Now I am opening my own practice. I was planning to go back in January and start looking for clinic space.”
“We are still in December.”
“I know. But after I stopped working with Dr. Shravan, I got really bored. And Maya thought I needed a proper vacation…”
“So, you are not going early, right?”
Ritu stared at him, silent. No. Please, don’t go.
“I still haven’t locked my songs yet!” He grasped at straws.
“Don’t worry, I’ll send them to you from there too. God gave us the gift of the internet.”
“Are you even actively searching for my songs?”
“Yes, in fact. Wait,” she pulled out her phone and scrolled. “How is this?” She hit play.
Aankhon se tune yeh kya keh diya, dil yeh deewana dhadakne laga…
Nilay didn't even register the words or the melody, his eyes on hers that were wide, her brows waggling.
“When are you leaving?”
“First week of January. I am not staying until the end of the month but I haven’t told Maya yet.”
Oh, man. Thank god. He had three weeks. What for, though?
“Then don’t shift back to Maya’s house.”
“Why?”
“We won’t be able to meet.”
“Why not? I am an adult.”
“Who sneaks out of her niece’s house like she is a teenager out to meet her secret boyfriend.”
Her smile froze.
“You get the idea.”
“Yes, I do…”
His doorbell rang. Nilay frowned.
“Are you expecting somebody?”
“No… must be Rajiv. To take my BP. Fuck, I forgot to go to him at 9…” he chuckled. “Would you like to hide in the bathroom or meet him?”
“How many people will I hide from?” She followed him.
“At this point, you are only hiding from your niece.”
“As are you.”
He turned the lock and opened the door. Only to come face to face with his father.
Age was just a number for Parmeshwar Patel.
One good thing he had passed on in the gene pool, Nilay thought, staring at a man twenty-five years his senior but looking like a mirror image of him, just a few years in the future.
His hair was all white though. And if he looked closely, his hairline was thinning.
“Daddy.”