Dear Maa,
You are the guardian of the house, the maker of it. You run it. You are not ‘employed’, but you have the three of us siblings keeping you busy. I don’t enjoy the food I have to eat at work. It makes me feel uneasy, sometimes sick, but more so because the food you make is my taste and it’s safe.
Sometimes when I’m home, you ask me to make your evening tea. You tell your friends it takes you two hours to pursue me to do the ten-minute chore. You tell me I make good tea even when I’m not sure how a ‘good tea’ tastes. I hate going to the kitchen, but sometimes when I wanted to accrue some good fortune, I did make you tea. When you compelled me against my wish, I deliberately tried to make the tea taste bad and put all of the water, milk, tea leaves and sugar at once. You said good girls obey and make teas.
Do you know Maa, one of these nights when you were asleep, I made tea with all my heart and soul? It was when Nilesh was coming to see me. He generally remains angry with me, sometimes he complains about me more than you complain about me but says he loves me more than you love me. That night, strangely, after he was out with his friends partying, he said he missed me and wanted to come to see me.
“Wow! Is this for real?” I thought and got out of the sheets slyly, put my phone on ‘silent’, walked to the bathroom and washed my face. I changed, scented my neck and tiptoed to the kitchen downstairs to make the good tea you say I make. Nilesh likes it when I do things for him. But I had to do it quickly because he could have arrived anytime. So, I began: After lighting the gas and putting water to boil in a saucepan, I crushed a cube of ginger and two pieces of cardamom together and added the coarsely-ground paste to water on the flame. Just when the flavoured water came to a boil, I added the tea leaves and it simmered. I then reduced the flame, and in around a minute or two, added to the concoction three-fourth a cup of milk.
In the process of making the good tea, however, I forgot about my ‘silent phone’ and ran out of the kitchen to ensure there was no missed call. No prizes for guessing that there was. As I held the phone in my hands, it rang again in vibration.
A Cup Of Tea And What Followed After
“Where the hell are you? I have been calling,” Nilesh said.
“I’m here, just forgot my phone was on silent,” I explained, “Where are you?” I said.
“Phone was on silent? Didn’t you know I was coming?” he said.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry. Have you reached?” I said.
“No, I’ll be there in five. Just take my call.”
I wanted to say “yeppppp” but he had hung up the call. So, I went back to my good tea-making process and just as I thought it was ready, I noticed the tea reduced to half. I quickly added half a cup of milk mixed with water to the saucepan and increased the flame of the gas. As it developed the colour of oxidised iron, I hurriedly sieved the tea into Dadi’s steel flask and snuck out through the back door. With tea in one hand and my phone vibrating in the other, I left the door unlocked as I sat in the car and locked the door. Nilesh was going to be happy and I was excited.
“Heyyy!! Let’s go,” I said flashing a brilliant smile.
“You know I don’t like waiting?” he answered sans any brilliant smile.
“I know, but I was making you some reaaaally goooood tea,” my tone explaining.
“I don’t want to have your tea. I’d much have you come out on time,” his tone stiff and upright.
“Niles, it’s just five minutes that you had to wait. Only the tea took me some time!” I began, shy of protesting.
He didn’t respond to that but I was glad, it gave me time to take some deep breaths — the breaths that I missed noticing I was taking and releasing since the time Nilesh’s call had woken me up an hour ago.
“Don’t know what you think of yourself?” he said, interrupting my momentary focus on my breaths.
“Why are you so angry? What did I do?” I said, now protesting.
“What did you do, you’re asking me that?” he said, putting the car to a squeaking halt. “I come to meet you from that far and you can’t come out of your bloody house on time?”
“Listen, calm down. Won’t you have the tea?” I offered after concluding in my head it was five kilometres that he had travelled.
“Shut up,” he said as though he eavesdropped on the conversation I was having with myself.
I looked away in anger but duly acknowledging his anger, I tried proposing him the good tea again, that I had brought to the perfect shade of red by simmering for just the right time, the good tea that got me late, the good tea that fuelled Nilesh’s anger and the good tea that I thought would also suppress it. But how often is it, Maa, that we achieve what we think?
As I extended the flask, Nilesh extended his hand but not to grab the flask. With his outstretched fingers, he grabbed me by my hair and used his other hand to take the flask from my hand and hurl it out of the window on the driver’s side of the car.
The smashing of the flask on the concrete coincided with Nilesh’s yelling and the uprooting of my hair. I instantly thought of Dadi who’d be furious if she found out her steel flask was broken.
“Don’t you enjoy bringing me to my worst, Arzia?” he said, taking my name for the first time that night. “Why do you play with my anger?” he added as his big round eyes over his perfectly square jaws and under his broad forehead demanded resignation. It was not that I did not try giving an answer, Maa, only that I choked as he clenched my scented neck. You had said that good relationships are made of a good number of adjustments.
Perhaps, Nilesh realised this lesson in good relationships that you gave me and released his grip over me and I straightened my back once again. I collected my hair over my head but I could not collect my tears. Though my neck was clenched, it appeared as though my mind had paralysed. Those seconds appeared frozen in time and I remember not being able to think clearly. It was as if all the nerves reaching my brains had entangled like the wires of my earphones. Then, Nilesh got out of the car and that worked for my brain just like my fingers usually work to untangle the earphones.
He picked up the flask and came back. I was amazed it survived the strike except its handle broke apart.
“Look, Arzia, I’m sorry,” he said as he punched his hand on the metal of the car. “I’m really sorry,” he apologised profusely before breaking down.
Then taking a long breath he said, “I just feel so protective towards you, it itches me when you deprioritise me,” and followed that up with, “I care for you so much, I always want to spend more time with you.” Nilesh’s big round eyes now became small and his square face took the colour of a good tea. I held his face in my hands and apologised in return for triggering his anger.
All of a sudden then he pulled from the back pocket of the seat cover a five-rupee pack of EasyFix. “Didn’t you always want to know why I keep this in my car?” he said, adding to explain, “This is why.”
Nilesh took the broken handle and fixed it with the EasyFix to the flask, pressing it against the steel for some time to ensure it stayed. I watched him, almost certain the adhesive won’t stick the steel pieces together, but hopeful it did. Voila! It did. Nilesh presented the fixed flask as if it was a new one to me and said, “EasyFix fixes everything.” “Can it fix us?” I said. He said he promised – to drop me back home.
I snuck in back through the door and made sure to lock it before going straight to the kitchen. I washed the flask, careful to cover the handle so the glue does not wash out, and dried it before keeping it exactly where I picked it up from, in the same position – inverted, with the lid on top.
I turned down the kitchen lights and tiptoed my way to my room. Then slyly again, I slipped inside the sheets, careful not to make any noise that would wake you up. But voices inside my head that night were louder than any movement could make. You say good girls obey, they make teas. I did all that Maa, but it didn’t make Nilesh happy. You make Papa tea, but that doesn’t stop him from shouting at you in front of Dadi or hitting you behind her. Even though we had not driven too far away from where we had started, barely 500 metres, I realised I was exhausted. My head was heavy from the noises and my neck stiff from the pulling. I constantly wondered if the EasyFix would permanently fix the handle.
“Arzia, come on, get up,” you interrupted my thoughts four hours later as you woke me up the next morning.
“How long will you keep sleeping? The sun is out bright,” you said caressing my hair. Your face, round as the sun and calm as the moon, was full of love even as you yelled. I wondered why Nilesh didn’t look the same every time he yelled at me if he loves me more than you do, but brushing aside that thought said:
“Maa, did you make tea for Dadi?” I tried not to make it obvious that the flask was of a greater concern to me than Dadi having the tea that morning.
“Yeah, why, you want some too?”
“Nay, thanks, I’ll get it myself.” I rushed downstairs to the kitchen to check the flask. It was kept there majestically as I had. I tried pulling the handle to confirm the EasyFix worked, and it had. I was glad Dadi wouldn’t have to be upset. The idea of good tea is bad, I thought. So that morning, instead of a good tea, I made us the best coffee. “Maa, coffee? I’m making for myself.”
“Sure.”
I was sure you’d love the coffee that I meticulously brewed as we sat across the dining table sipping it. Instead, you complained about the time I spend on my phone.
“Going by the number of hours you spend on that phone, I doubt those eyes will serve you a lifetime,” you said. I kept aside the phone. But then you complained about the length of the skirt that I had worn the previous day. I tried offering you a convincing explanation when Dadi shouted from the kitchen:
“How did my flask get this crack?”
Oops! That’s that. I almost said, “nothing saving me now.” Just then you told Dadi that it accidentally fell down after you washed the dishes last night. You had seen it broken and you knew it was me but you saved me from Dadi’s outburst. I am writing to thank you for all that you do for me, for all of us. Thank you for making me the food. Thank you for saving me that day. Thank you for fixing any and every situation.
Thank you for being my EasyFix, Maa.
Love,
Arzia