At Neela’s
Based on a real-life incident
One Wednesday morning, Chitra finished her chores quickly, took a bath, plaited her hair, and powdered her face. This was her time of rest and pleasant anticipation: she always enjoyed going to Neela’s, but what with being one of two girls in a large family of boys, she barely had time to. There were always chores to finish or singing to practise. Meanwhile, the boys went in and out of the house at all hours, discipline a vague idea, but nobody cared.
Neela’s house was a cool, curtained haven, walls tastefully lined with books — from P G Wodehouse to Archaeological Survey of India publications — and a far cry from the chaos that reigned in Chitra’s house. It was not always fun to have so many siblings, whatever other people might think. A quiet place, good company, some delicious food — that was all a girl needed, really.
‘Amma, I’m off,’ she called, tying her ribbon with a flourish.
‘Don’t go empty-handed,’ chided Amma, handing her a cup of freshly cooked brinjal curry.
‘Such a bore!’ remarked Chitra, cradling it in her hands.
‘Only you find it boring,’ said Amma, scornfully. ‘Neela’s mother loves it. Your father loves it. Nandu ate a cupful even as I was cooking it…’
‘Okay, okay, it’s the best thing in the world. I am glad you have enough people to eat it.’
‘You children will never appreciate…’
But Chitra had slid out through the gate and into the next street. She walked through the little lawn in front of Neela’s house and rang the bell. Neela’s mother opened the door.
‘Come in, Chitra! Neela is at the library but will be back in a while.’
Stepping in, Chitra inhaled the mixed fragrance of books, incense, and cooking. She wondered what Aunty had made for lunch that day.
‘Would you like some water?’
‘No, thank you, Aunty. I’ll have some later. Amma sent you this.’
‘Oh, how lovely! I almost had a feeling this morning that she was making it, and here we are!’
Setting the cup down in the kitchen, Aunty beckoned Chitra to the sofa in the hall and they sat down.
‘How is your mother? I barely see her these days.’
‘Oh, she has been busy, Aunty. My uncle has moved to Hyderabad with his family and she has been helping them set up.’
‘Ah, yes, that is always a challenge. I’ve had to travel so much with Uncle, and every single tour and transfer was a headache. Now that he has retired, I’m living a life of luxury!’
Chitra moved uncomfortably in her chair. She knew these preludes to all too well. She liked Aunty, especially her cooking, but to listen to long-winded stories of what she called her youth was not really the most exciting prospect of a lazy afternoon. For one, Chitra almost knew these stories by heart. She had a purpose for her visit and would rather plunge straight into it than be forced to sit through another description of Uncle’s misadventures in various towns. However, she had no choice.
‘You know, he was never able to find food to his taste anywhere. But Durgapur was a real surprise. He bought dal-puri from the market every single day! And you know how picky he is about hole-in-the-wall places. Then, when we went to Chikkamagaluru, we had to take a bus from a little town…oh, what was its name…old age hasn’t spared me and we were so young then…it had this bus stop…anyway, we got off and went to the first restaurant we could find, because we were ravenous. And I tell you, Chitra, we had the best rava idli there!’
Half-an-hour passed. Neela called; she was delayed at the library and would come home only after six. Aunty relayed the message to Chitra, made some orange juice, and went on talking. Surely she could stay on a little longer? It was so boring in the afternoons. Chitra wilted but sat on stoically. Aunty revelled in her descriptions of local cuisine from their travels.
‘You know, you should come home for lunch someday. I’ll make you some saaru. I have the best recipe in the world!’ — triumphantly.
‘But Aunty…have you had lunch today? Am I keeping you?’
‘Oh, no, I’ve already eaten. But listen, I’ll also make you some shrikhand — my neighbour taught me how to make it when we lived in Pune. The sweetest mangoes…’
Poor Chitra could stand it no more. She stood up.
‘I’m sorry, Aunty, but I need to leave. Please tell Neela I’ll see her on Saturday.’
She made a hasty departure and fled home. She tried to slink into the kitchen through the back door, but her mother saw her.
‘You’re back already?’
Chitra ignored her and took the lid off the leftover brinjal curry.
***
When Neela returned home, her mother complained of Chitra’s behaviour.
‘So rude of her to leave abruptly!’ she finished.
‘That’s strange. She doesn’t usually act this way. But maybe you went on talking and forgot to offer her something to fortify herself with!’ A wicked gleam lit Neela’s eyes.
Her mother stared at her.
‘What day is it, Neela?’
‘Wednesday, why?’
‘Oh dear. I invited her to lunch when I met her at the temple last week and completely forgot about it. I ate early because I was very hungry — you know I fasted yesterday — and there was enough only for Appa and me. It completely slipped my mind! And to think I was telling her about all the food we ate on our trips, poor girl.’
Neela sank into a chair, laughing uncontrollably.
‘Amma, how could you? And you’ve been calling her rude…’
‘Stop it, Neela! I’m so embarrassed. Let’s go over immediately and invite her to lunch tomorrow.’
‘Are you sure? Will you remember…’
‘Come!’
In the next street, Nandu was regaling his father with an embellished version of Chitra’s misery when Neela and her mother walked in with the new invitation.
