Chapter 20 #2
“And I like you a lot better than Shiva,” he tapped her cheeks with his thumbs.
They were beginning to fill out nicely, as was her body.
Her appetite had opened up after the first couple of weeks of force-feeding herself for Yathaarth.
Atharva reached down and pulled her face close up to his mouth, pressing his lips to one smooth cheek.
She stilled, her skin going hot under his face.
The oven timer pinged and she pushed back from him, running and bending down as if some great miracle was about to pop out.
“What are you doing so late in the night?” He asked, grabbing her wrist to pull her up. She pulled him down instead — “See!”
Atharva peered inside the glass.
“Buns. So?”
“They rose! I made them,” she grinned at the sight excitedly. “From scratch. Without Shiva’s help. On my own.”
“That’s good to know, myani zuv, but why are you running a night kitchen in our house?” He took her hand and helped her up. This time she came, her eyes straying to her buns as if they would vanish.
“Did you eat dinner?” She asked, setting her brush down and walking to the fridge.
“No. I texted you that I would eat at home.”
“You also texted that you would be home by the time of dinner. Then Zafarji called to inform that you would be late. How late, nobody can tell because ‘Janab is with the PAG.’”
“Budget planning has to start for next year,” he fiddled with Shiva’s old radio as she went about plating his food. “We have a fiscal deficit as usual.”
“But last year you recorded a surplus, no?” She popped his plate in the microwave. Her Lucky Ali trailed to an end and the channel went into static. Atharva tuned it to newer frequencies, eyes raising to her — “You remember?”
“Of course I do.”
“You were busy and not in the state for my work talk,” he smiled, hitting a channel that played something nice. “You still remember?”
Jab deep jale aana…
“No, no, no. No grandfather music. And I remember everything you have told me.”
“This is Yesudas. Don’t insult Yesudas,” he pointed.
“I was here first. My choice trumps. Change! Change, Atharva!”
Those raised eyebrows, those wide eyes, that warning on her face screaming to throw every projectile object at him — Atharva stared a second too long to hype it up.
“Atharva,” she began to reach for the radio and he pulled it out of her reach — “Fine.”
The microwave pinged and she went to it. He tuned some more, praying for another old number to pop up. Rafi’s baritone hummed.
“No,” Iram’s warning voice was louder. He bit back a smile. He had seen her begin to enjoy her music again. If that meant his home was filled with Lucky Ali, Shaan, Falguni Pathak, Shankar Mahadevan and sometimes even those 2000s remixes, then he would happily let his ears bleed.
Musu musu hasi deoma lailai
He rolled his eyes.
“I went to the theatre twice to watch this movie,” she turned, carrying his plate without using mittens.
“You’ll burn your hand!” He pushed off the platform but she held it steady without flinching. “Where do you want to eat?”
“Here.”
“Not on the table?”
“You will leave your precious buns alone?” He waggled his eyebrows at the set she was readying.
“No way!”
“Then give me my food here,” he jumped up on the platform and began to take his cufflinks off. Iram set his plate by his side.
“Why would you go twice?”
“Once I went with my mother and then with my friends again. The college life, the friend groups, that was so much fun to watch. You know, I also bought this cassette three times because I broke one while rewinding. Ammi had a fit but Abba quietly promised to bring me a fourth one if this one broke.”
“What happened to the second cassette?” He rolled his sleeves and dug into his food, eyeing her talk so easily about the people she had not been able to call her own.
The struggle inside her, the knot of mess that had lived inside her eyes, on her face, in her pauses, seemed to have unraveled.
He did not dare acknowledge it, or call it out. Yet.
“The second cassette was for my walkman,” she smiled, eyes on the tray as she brushed more butter, or whatever that liquid was, on her buns.
One swipe, two swipes, three swipes. And her smile wobbled.
The spoonful of rice he had scooped up, halted at his mouth.
Atharva set the spoon down and began to get down from the platform when that smile climbed back up.
He observed, waited, then picked up his spoon again.
“If I fight my memories of them, I am fighting myself,” she went on brushing the buns, letting her words flow just as easily after that small hiccup. Her face turned to him — “If you didn’t love a child, would you buy them three cassettes of Pyaar Mein Kabhi Kabhi and promise a fourth one?”
That smile, that wisdom in brown eyes, the acceptance singing quietly behind the rubble that was built back and lit up into the most glorious city — yet again — Atharva lost his heart, his mind and his soul to her all over again.
Tauba, tumhare yeh ishaare…
The song changed. And that wisdom of her eyes was now glowing with her girlie smile. Atharva didn’t know until then that he was smiling too. So bad. So big. Goofy. Grateful. Giddy. She took her gaze down to the buns and sprinkled fistfuls of sesame. They did look good.
“Can I have one of the newly baked ones?”
“No.”
“Why?” He bit back more giddiness inside him and reached for the salad on his plate — cucumbers and onions because tomatoes were already devoured by her it seemed. “You baked them for somebody else?”
“It’s for all of you but for breakfast tomorrow. I am planning to make tofu burgers for breakfast. Lots of salad and very little carbs…”
He groaned, mixing the dal with more rice.
“Did Yathaarth sleep already?” He inquired, realising the house was quiet, as was the baby monitor.
“Begumjaan took him to her room to play with him, then she fell asleep before he did so I got him and lay him down in our room. He hasn’t made a single noise yet but then, his nappy gets ready to burst by 1 am.”
Atharva ate quietly, in peace, enjoying her giving him detailed updates on how their son was almost turning to his side and already trying to get to his stomach. He wasn’t quite there yet.
“…I have a dozen videos recorded on my mobile of him trying and falling back. At this rate, my storage will be full.” She bent down to pull the tray of baked buns and replace them with the raw ones in her hand. When she rose to her feet, her rant stopped short. “What?”
“Nothing,” he bit into a piece of cucumber and crunched. Then held the remaining piece out to her.“Want?”
She made a face and began to push back.
“Did you check if the heater was on in our room?” Atharva asked.
“Yes.”
“But is it set to auto? It starts making noise after an hour if it is not set on auto.”
“Oh yes…” she set the tray down beside him and ran. “We can’t have him waking up and partying all night!”
Atharva reached for one of the piping hot buns and set it on his plate.
He stretched to grab a knife and the covered dish of butter.
With quick, military precision, he sliced the bun and it opened to the most fragrant warm scent of baking.
He lathered it lightly with some butter and closed his mouth around it.
There, now she wouldn’t be able to take it away from him.
“What are you doing?!”
The knife slipped from his hand. But he recovered quickly — “Eating. Want?” He held the half-eaten piece out to her.
“You liar! You sent me off to steal my buns,” she pushed at his chest, sliding the tray away from him.
“I just pointed out a legitimate concern.”
Her beautiful brown eyes narrowed, making the giddy inside him skip over his heartbeats. He was too deep into the best bread of his life to care though. Atharva reached for the other slice of his bun but she slid it from under his hand. So slick.
“Iram,” he cocked his eyebrow. She stepped back before he could catch hold of her.
“Give it up,” he jumped down to his feet.
She crammed a big bite into her mouth, her cheeks full like a chipmunk.
Her eyes widened, “Woow, this is so gooed!” He took the split second of distraction and pulled her to his chest by the waist. She was too lost in her bread heaven to see his mouth tug the remaining piece from her hand.
Before she could react, he had gobbled it off.
“You are such a thief!” She whacked his shoulder, pushing to move away. He tightened his arm — “You partook in my contraband. Congratulations, Mrs. Thief.”
“I baked it!” She shot back, and reminded him of cookies stolen from Shiva, gobbled hidden in her attic. Atharva burst out laughing.
“What?” She grinned.
“We are still thieves in our own house.”
“Thie…” she stopped, the penny dropping. “This time, I own this lot. You stole from me.”
“And I am nicely apologising. See?” He pecked her cheek. Then the other cheek. “Now can I have one more?”
Her face went still again, cheeks flushed, irises flaring. His own realisation came dawning, the intimacy of that second lasting a century inside him. Atharva held her gaze but she glanced away — “Are you hungry? Should I heat up more dal-rice?”
“I’m done,” he loosened his arms from around her but did not completely let go.
“If you are full, then no more bread either. Breakfast tomorrow,” she pushed out of his arms and moved. And he was left with his mouth hanging open, outwitted by his wife.
“Go shower and go to sleep.”
“When are you coming up?”
“Once this last lot is baked and stored, away from thieves.”
Atharva went to the sink and washed his hands — “But why are you so obsessively baking today? And so late in the night?”
No response. He flung the excess water away and turned — “Iram?”
“I am still unable to write.”
“Myani zuv…”
“I don’t know. It’s not like I start feeling down when I open my laptop but it’s like if I start, a lot of things will come out and I am not ready to read it back. And I will have to read it back to edit it.”