GAZE

I woke up in the morning, listening to the crackling noise of the mustard seeds. I was struggling to keep my eyes open when I heard curry leaves joining the mustard. The seeds seemed offended with the new company and the bustling got even louder. And then, I heard a coconut getting its insides carved out. I waited until I heard the blade grinding against the rim of the coconut, suggesting that all flesh had been taken out. A calm silence ensued later.

I shifted my ears to the veranda, my eyes still closed. I heard the ruffling of the newspaper and the soft tap of the teacup landing on the table. The movement of the papers in the morning breeze and the sipping of the tea were so soothing to listen to and I could feel another sleep gently tapping into my forehead.

All of a sudden, I was startled by the whistle of the cooker. I sat up on the bed, threw the blanket over and marched towards the kitchen. “Come on, Mom. It’s a nice Saturday morning and I just want a good sleep, alright?”

I did not get a reply. The cooker whistled again to break the silence. My mother stared at me for some time and then resigned to cutting onions. I am not sure whether I read her expression correctly that day. My mother reminded me of the ancient scriptures that I heard about in history class – always difficult to decipher. Her eyes were so lifeless. They were always looking for something but they clearly didn’t know what it was. I craved to be the objects that she stared at. Not because they got any special treatment from her. They had her attention that I didn’t get. Even if I could do the most extraordinary thing, her brain wouldn’t guide her into uttering something sweet. Appreciation is a word that my mother doesn’t understand.

So, I decided to search for it elsewhere. And I grabbed it at the very first instance I saw it. “I think I am the one you need.” He spoke. “You are such a frail girl, Navami. I can protect you.”

Is it not sweet for someone to show me that kind of affection? Is it not protection that a frail girl like me should hope for? And when someone is offering it to me, shouldn’t I take it? Is it wrong to take the love that stands there with its arms opened towards me? So, I gave my whole life to this man that I found. I married him.

“I am tired, Nami” is the first thing he says after returning from office. “Office is so overwhelming. Can you make me some hot tapioca and fish curry?” Yesterday, it was hot peanut soup that he wanted. And day before that, he wanted masala dosa.

How can I deny anything for this man who toil everyday just to keep me happy? Without hesitation, I would secure the biriyani that I made into the fridge and start working on the tapioca and the fish, while he would hop into the shower and listen to his favourite podcast on his phone. After dinner, he would be dead tired that he would silently walk to his bed and lie down. “This is what all working men do.” I used to think. “This was exactly how my father was with my mother.” As long as I remain the focal point in his life, I will respect my husband’s demands.

One evening, as I was watering my rose plants on the balcony, I heard giggling and laughter from the other side of the apartment. A newly wed couple had moved to our colony. I saw the girl standing on the balcony and her husband’s arms hugging her from behind. What were they talking about? I was intrigued and wanted to know them more.

So, I watched them. Everyday. In the morning, while I hustled in the kitchen packing my husband’s lunch and hovering over the milk on the stove, I managed to catch a glimpse of the couple who would be in the kitchen. They laugh like little kids and crack jokes so loudly that at times, I would find myself widening a smile.

The boy had an excellent skill in cutting vegetables. The girl knew the right number of spices needed for each dish. On Mondays, they made chapatis and egg curry. On Tuesdays and Fridays, they preferred upma. Wednesday were ‘no-kitchen days’ and they would have breakfast from a nearby shop. Toast was the breakfast on weekends as it would be light on the stomach. They cook biriyani together for lunch on Saturdays.

“Nami, I’m already late. Where’s my breakfast. I didn’t get my coffee as well.” Screamed my husband from the dining room. I wondered when he had forgotten the way to the kitchen in his own house. I have never seen him coming here. “I am coming.” I wiped the sweat with the hem of my saree and rushed to feed him.

As soon as he left for office, I would run to my window from which I would watch the couple again. By this time, both would be ready for work. They would take turns driving the car to their offices and they returned home together, each carrying a chocolate or flower for the other.

Unlike my corporate husband, who says he needs to hangout with his colleagues after work, this couple reached home soon after the sun had gone down and began with their evening chores. They would occasionally go out for a movie as well.

One day, they just disappeared. Maybe, they went to visit their parents. I waited for days, weeks and months. It seemed as if they moved out. All those days when I waited, I tended to my husband hoping that I would see the couple next day. That never happened.

I could feel myself feeling a lot more distracted than usual. One time, I poured salt into my husband’s tea instead of sugar. He was so angry that he didn’t take the lunch I packed for him that day. The other day, I dropped some curry on his favourite white shirt and he burned my favourite saree in return.

He would find me gazing at the walls and say, “I think your mother’s ghost possessed you.” And then he would laugh like he cracked the world’s biggest joke. I would attempt to laugh too. I do not think he will act nice if I don’t agree to his jokes.

I think now I have a better understanding of my mother. She used to stare at things so that she could escape the mundaneness of her life. Maybe she saw love elsewhere. Maybe I will find something better for me as well. I sat down to write my husband a note. I secured it safely on his study table, packed my clothes and locked the door. I began walking towards the apartment where the couple stayed.

Nikitha Nelson

A literature student who shapes her observations of the world and its matters into words. She enjoys reading classics and is particularly interested in themes centred around women, estrangement and nature.