The kitchen hummed with the soft sizzle of onions browning in a pan, the faint smell of garlic mingling with the aroma of fresh vegetables. Reema’s knife tapped the chopping board in precise, consistent and calm motions, belying the excitement fizzing away in her heart: her daughter was coming back home today. Her hand continued to move with ease, the sound serving as a metronome to the other participants of the kitchen, urging them to move at her pace.
Her husband Sanjay was not moving at her pace. He stood by the kitchen counter, fidgeting with the rice cooker that displayed no results for the tenuous efforts his fingers made. He tapped the side of the cooker in frustration.
“I think this thing’s broken,” he muttered, pressing harder on the buttons, his face reddening. “It wouldn’t hurt to check on your kitchen appliances more often, you know. But don’t worry, I’ll fix it later.”
One of Reema’s knife taps was a fraction of a beat too late, but no one noticed.
“I still can’t believe you forgot to order today’s cake,” she said curtly.
Sanjay involuntarily tapped the rice cooker a little too hard for his finger’s comfort. Wincing, he could feel his frustration rise.
“It’s not like I forgot on purpose! Do you really think you’re the only one who cares about our child? And I’m making up for it by helping here, aren’t, I?”
A few feet away, the shuffling sounds the two had learnt to ignore slowly came to a halt. Shreya, Ridhima’s best friend who had come to help with the dinner, was nervously holding a plate and looking at the couple with wide eyes. Not that they noticed.
“Yes, you’re helping a lot with the rice. Tell me, is it ready, or are you going to wait until Ridhima’s arrival to ask me how the machine works?”
“I’m trying to HELP woman! Can’t you see that?”
A loud snap broke through the uninterrupted knife taps as Reema sliced through a particularly hard carrot.
“The only think you’re helping is your bruised ego,” she said, quietly, hoping and not hoping at once that her husband would hear.
He heard.
A loud slam echoed through the kitchen, followed by a soft clink. Sanjay had slapped the old counter so hard, that a tiny chip broke off a corner tile. This was, in seconds, followed by the sound of Shreya gently closing the door as she tried to escape as quickly and quietly as possible. Shreya needn’t have bothered, because the two adults could only hear a loud ringing in their ears.
Finally, Reema stopped chopping. A small childish part of Sanjay’s mind cheered at finally breaking her rhythm. But a second later, Reema moved to stir the now black onions in the pan.
Sanjay could still hear the knife taps in his head. One tap, two taps, three taps… And still Reema ignored him.
With a decisive step forward, Sanjay approached the stove to snatch the ladle out of Reema’s hands. Startled by the sudden motion, Reema flinched, knocking Sanjay’s arm off course in the process. His hand smacked into a ladle in the pot of chicken curry. As if in slow motion, the ladle swooped out of the pot, tossing out its contents in a great big arc… aimed right for Sanjay’s best shirt.
As the heat from the curry seeped into his chest, something hot rose much deeper in his heart.
“WHY COULDN’T YOU MOVE! YOU WANTED TO HURT ME, DIDN’T YOU! AND THEN YOU CALL YOURSELF MY WIFE!”
After what felt like an eternity to Reema, she gathered the breath to respond.
“Go and clean yourself up. We might be able to save the shirt if you start now. It was Ridhima’s gift, after all.”
At the sound of his daughter’s name, something huge and vile that had been swelling inside him deflated. For a long moment, he stood there, no words coming out of his mouth. Then, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, his head determinedly kept high, the sound of his footsteps almost drowned by the soft sizzling of the onions still cooking in the pan.
Reema didn’t watch him go. She simply turned back to the now cinder like onions, stirring them in robotic motions.
The kitchen, now filled only with the quiet hum of the stove, was eerily still.
Later that night, Sanjay drew a long and calming breath from his cigarette, standing alone in the veranda. He intentionally left the lights off. His wife and daughter had huddled up into one of the rooms, most likely talking about him.
It had only taken one look at both their faces for Ridhima to piece together what had happened. He hated the disappointed look her eyes held as they looked at him, and the sympathetic gaze directed towards her mother.
They had to order in, in the end. After all the time Reema spent cleaning up after the incident, she was only able to salvage so much of their…her cooking. Foolish woman, couldn’t even handle the one duty she had. Shreya never returned, sending a text message to Ridhima saying she had fallen ill. At least the girl had some decency…
The shirt stain didn’t disappear. He had scrubbed the fabric to the point of wearing it away, but the marks ran far too deep.
His family would just have to live with it. With him.