She ambled towards the kitchen sheepishly. It was their first morning together after a lavish and loud wedding. They didn't have sex but to sleep in the same room with a stranger was an uncomfortable experience. They said that he was her husband but then he hardly knew her except for the fact that he loved to go for plays and took a keen interest in writing.
To cook for a stranger was an uphill task but this was the moment that could break the ice between them.
The kitchen was neat and everything was placed in order with clear labels pasted on the jars. She smiled happily at the thought of having accidentally married a guy who was spick and span and knew how to take care of his belongings.
The space was stacked with all the latest home appliances that were invented to make cooking an effortless and painless experience. She was in awe of the man she had married after having a glance of his scullery. He had indeed been brought up with a sense and value for responsibility.
She wondered as to what was the first dish that she should make for her beloved husband that would make him fall head over heels in love with her. She didn't want the first meal of their life to leave a distaste in their mouths.
The window threw the warmth of the sun on her face.The bright red flowers in the garden were gleefully basking in the aubade aura of the yellow star.
She decided to make chole (chickpeas) and puri (wheat bread fried in oil). She remembered that on their first date in a sparsely lit restaurant in south Bombay he had joked about craving for chole bhature after having moved away from home. Struggling to knead the dough to perfection she had to make sure that the surprise she had planned for her husband remained behind the closed doors. After battling with the hissing sounds of the fried oil and getting incinerated in the heat she hurriedly rushed to the bathroom to wash herself. She didn't want to stink like a pig and waste the moment she was looking forward to.
The ceramic tray was brimming with utensils. The pots made a loud clinging noise that woke him up. With half open eyes and a shy smile he looked at her from the comfort of the couch that was his resting place for the night. He moved quickly to the bathroom and returned in a jiffy, quickly positioning himself on the wooden chair of the study table placed in the corner of the room. She couldn't look at him with confidence or for that matter with ardor as he was this stranger turned acquaintance who had posed with her on a gilded stage for the frenzied photographers last night.
As they sat down to have the first meal of their life together as husband and wife, he gingerly touched her for the first time moving the bunch of wet dripping hair away from her face. She was taken aback by the gentle grazing of his skin on hers. They said that a way to a man's heart was through his stomach, perhaps they were right.
As he broke a piece of the puri and dipped it in chole, biting into it like a gluttonous dog, the expression on his face suddenly changed. As she bent over him to inquire as to what was wrong with the food, he grinned and inquired as to whether she could find the jar of salt or not.She tasted the food, smiling back in hesitation intently looking at a man who had no qualms in forgiving her for being stupid, or perhaps unmindful.
Forgetfulnes and a pinch of salt gave them their first sweet moment.
'This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.'
To cook for a stranger was an uphill task but this was the moment that could break the ice between them.
The kitchen was neat and everything was placed in order with clear labels pasted on the jars. She smiled happily at the thought of having accidentally married a guy who was spick and span and knew how to take care of his belongings.
The space was stacked with all the latest home appliances that were invented to make cooking an effortless and painless experience. She was in awe of the man she had married after having a glance of his scullery. He had indeed been brought up with a sense and value for responsibility.
She wondered as to what was the first dish that she should make for her beloved husband that would make him fall head over heels in love with her. She didn't want the first meal of their life to leave a distaste in their mouths.
The window threw the warmth of the sun on her face.The bright red flowers in the garden were gleefully basking in the aubade aura of the yellow star.
She decided to make chole (chickpeas) and puri (wheat bread fried in oil). She remembered that on their first date in a sparsely lit restaurant in south Bombay he had joked about craving for chole bhature after having moved away from home. Struggling to knead the dough to perfection she had to make sure that the surprise she had planned for her husband remained behind the closed doors. After battling with the hissing sounds of the fried oil and getting incinerated in the heat she hurriedly rushed to the bathroom to wash herself. She didn't want to stink like a pig and waste the moment she was looking forward to.
The ceramic tray was brimming with utensils. The pots made a loud clinging noise that woke him up. With half open eyes and a shy smile he looked at her from the comfort of the couch that was his resting place for the night. He moved quickly to the bathroom and returned in a jiffy, quickly positioning himself on the wooden chair of the study table placed in the corner of the room. She couldn't look at him with confidence or for that matter with ardor as he was this stranger turned acquaintance who had posed with her on a gilded stage for the frenzied photographers last night.
As they sat down to have the first meal of their life together as husband and wife, he gingerly touched her for the first time moving the bunch of wet dripping hair away from her face. She was taken aback by the gentle grazing of his skin on hers. They said that a way to a man's heart was through his stomach, perhaps they were right.
As he broke a piece of the puri and dipped it in chole, biting into it like a gluttonous dog, the expression on his face suddenly changed. As she bent over him to inquire as to what was wrong with the food, he grinned and inquired as to whether she could find the jar of salt or not.She tasted the food, smiling back in hesitation intently looking at a man who had no qualms in forgiving her for being stupid, or perhaps unmindful.
Forgetfulnes and a pinch of salt gave them their first sweet moment.
'This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.'
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