The Anniversary Meal
I woke up to the sound of the alarm clock as usual. My old muscles made walking slightly difficult, so I sat on the bed for a bit before alighting.
Today was a special day, my anniversary. Like every year, the menu was fixed - My favourite chola puri and my wife Padma’s favourite halwa. I put the tea on boil and checked the cholas I had soaked the previous night, before putting them in the cooker to boil. I finally sat down to have my tea peacefully.
Old age makes even the simplest of tasks so difficult.
I sipped my tea in silence, reminiscing the day I got married. Padma made my house into a loving home, bringing normalcy into my life. Each year she made it a point to celebrate the anniversary by cooking the same meal. This year I took up the daunting task.
“This is our tradition.” she would say. She had magic in her hands.
The pressure cooker whistle brought me back to the present. I gulped down my remaining tea and slowly made my way to the kitchen, right when the sixth whistle rang.
I switched off the flame and proceeded to knead dough, knowing very well that I had a lot of work to do. I offered a silent prayer before starting to knead. The dough was very sticky, much to my annoyance. I picked up more flour trying to fix it. Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead as I struggled more and more with it. I wiped my forehead and in the process managed to smear it with flour. When I was finally done, I had kneaded enough dough to last me a week! The entire process was very taxing.
I then proceeded to chop onions and tomatoes for the gravy with shivering hands. I started chopping them finely but gave up mid way and instead chopped huge pieces and put them in the food processor and then transferred the gravy into a wok. The final product looked too watery, salty and spicy for my taste. I sighed and switched off the flame.
I will eat it no matter how it is.
The halwa was another story altogether. I didn’t want to overindulge so I added a little ghee. Turns out, you cannot do that because the halwa looked like multiple blocks of stones. I tried to salvage the situation but it was already too late.
At least it does not taste bad.
Finally lay the daunting task of making puris. I struggled to roll and fry them. They were neither round, nor fluffy and too oily.
It is still better than my expectations.
The meal was ready by two. I served it all on a plate. I took a morsel and offered it to Padma’s picture, “Happy Anniversary Padma.”
Tears rolled down my eyes. I was hungry and yet somehow my heart ached instead of my stomach.
You taught me everything except how to live without you.