Open Kitchen

Eight-year-old Suhani stopped at the kitchen door as she saw her mother cutting onions. This was not the first time, she saw her crying like this. She knew every time her mother cut the onions was not to cook something but to hide the fact that she was unhappy, dejected, and sad. She knew it was hard for her mother to face her father in this situation as he only was the reason for her sadness. He scolded her often for one thing or another and her mother went silently into the kitchen without letting her father know that she was hurt. Then everything was normal again after she came back from her kitchen,  a smile adorning her face with a hint of tears, still in her eyes. Once Suhani asked her mother angrily, "Why don't you tell papa, how much it hurts when he scolds you every now and then, whether you are at fault or not?" Her mother replied," It's no use Suhani. No one can understand a woman's heart, maybe no one wants to. Besides he doesn't like when I cry. He would be even more furious." That was once for all and she grew up with this thought engraved in her mind, often reinforced by jokes and statements uttered all around her.

While growing up, she told herself, there is no one who can understand her, and actually, there is no need to be understood by anyone.

*****

Raj and Suhani were going through a rocky patch in their marriage. They got married two years ago, Raj drawn to Suhani's non-melodramatic nature and Suhani loved Raj, as he made her laugh. They recently shifted to this small rented accommodation to save money to pay for their flat. Of late, Raj was becoming quite restless. He simply couldn't understand her weird habits. He hated it when after vehemently denying his ideas, she would just get up and go into the kitchen, getting herself busy in cooking something. "Why does she have to replace her emotions with a plate of pakoras? Why cann't we have a normal converstion?" He was getting insane, with these thoughts buzzing in his head.

As for Suhani, she never felt at peace in this flat. She knew this was the only one they could afford in their budget, but she felt deep in her heart that something was not quite right about this flat and then it happened.

One heated argument. As usual, she went into the kitchen and started cutting the onions. With the kitchen wall gone, Raj observed her from the sofa and couldn't resist himself. Instinctively, he got up and went to her. He asked: "What are you doing?" 

She was startled and actually got ashamed that Raj had caught her crying. A quick thought flashed in her mind that, as she was cutting onions, she could escape Raj's scrutinizing eyes. Maybe her cover isn't yet blown away. This thought vanished with the speed it flashed. At that very instant she realized that the kitchen wall was missing. So this, the concept of the open kitchen, was bothering her about this flat. That's why she didn't like this house. She had no privacy...to cry, to vent out her feelings. 

She had never expected, what happened next. 

Raj embraced her lightly, holding her shoulders he placed a light kiss on her forehead and said, "Don't take so much stress, or your little head would burst. I didn't know you would be so upset with this idea. What do you think we should do?" 

She shared her idea of taking a loan rather than selling off her ornaments for the down payment. He really liked it. He asked her to prepare some tea as well and picked up his phone to call someone.

This was kind of lightning in the dark. Suhani realized that each husband-wife relationship does not need to be the same. It was the open kitchen that opened the doors of honest communication between them. She understood that it is very important to let him know how she feels rather than hiding her feelings, anger and frustration behind pakora plates, like her mother always did. 

She called out from the kitchen, "Raj, tea is ready and tell the builder, I want an open kitchen in our apartment."

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Lost Bazaars

 There used to be a Bazaar here,

Where this mall now stands arrogantly.

Bargainings galored here

replaced by 'bargains galore'

As in malls, everything has a price tag.

No room for discussion, for dialogue.

Things bought quietly 

to fulfill hunger and thirst

and to decorate 

walls and houses.

Along with Bazaars,

 Home is also lost.

Walls remain, 

As of reminding of civilizations great.

In open Bazaars, 

people shivered in cold.

However here people are 

cold, factual, to the point.

Pointless discussions are gone

So are gone 

Qissas and Kahanis and Gapps,

 all forgotten alike.

Documentaries on the good, old world

bustling with humor mentions them

 and even petty fights and quarrels

which are replaced by Wars nowadays.

With Bazaar are lost the people

 who used to act as pacifiers

who told others to forgive and forget

they are replaced by negotiators instead. 

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The Connection

"My son's name is Ivan." Instinctively she turned her head to look at the speaker. She adjusted her glasses and paid attention to facial features and built up. Short-stature man in 30's, perhaps late 20's smiling daintily with brown stained teeth. She felt an irresistible urge to talk to the speaker, to know more about him.  Was she looking for a new relationship? Definitely not. Then what was she looking for? It eluded her for several days. For once she thought it was infatuation but then the mind brushed aside the thought as soon as it came. The mind questioned the heart a thousand times but the heart kept dodging.

Something drew her to him. May be it was the Crimea situation and his fear for the safety of his elders back home? A problem close to her heart- common people suffering/displaced on account of political crises. Filthy power games. She started taking interest in the conversations that went around, albeit she understood nothing. Their German speaking skills were way ahead her. She started following world news. She got an idea of what was going on in Crimea.

One day she spotted him sitting alone in the corridor. Impulsively she walked up to him and asked him about the current, realistic situation. Thankfully he explained it in English. Among other things, he said: "It's like big fish eating the smaller ones."

 Conversations started. The next thing she came to know was that, he was a chef by profession. He often talked about his native food and how it was made. Though she was a hardcore vegetarian, his cooking explanations never failed to bring water in her mouth. Whatever he explained seemed to be the tastiest dish ever invented. They often discussed about spices and he eventually got to register in his mind that she came from India. One day he specifically asked her about South Indian spices and she felt that she had no clue except the regular ones she uses in her kitchen on daily basis. She was no cook and for her cooking was a necessity rather than a hobby. She cooked average north Indian food which she thought was not very exciting. But she managed to tell him what she knew. There were actually many things which she was able to tell him about Indian food.  He listened carefully and said with a beaming smile: "I never knew that!"

 This made her feel proud of herself.  She had actually surprised herself with the knowledge of Indian food and spices she had.

Another day they discussed more immediate families. She told him that she loved her family and especially for her husband, she felt a strange affection which went beyond regular wifely  duties towards him. He praised her for accompanying her husband in a foreign country, putting a well paying job on hold to be with him. He gave her one more reason to be proud of her own self. The very next day he confessed that her views about family have actually helped him understand his own family situation. Then he went on telling her that his wife was the best thing that ever happened to him and he loved his son more than anything in the world. He added with a smile "Now I think, I understand my wife better". She knew, he was talking about the selfless love women have towards their husbands if they love them.

She saw them once together. All three of them having ice-cream near the language school. She was a petite, slim woman who looked very young. She saw their son also. Brown eyes of the father and smooth skin of the mother. She felt an instant love for that child.

One day as she was engrossed in her  German lessons, a lightning struck through her brain and there came an image of the book she had read in childhood- Russi aur Ukraini Lok Kathayein . The images of the small tent swam before her eyes along with the memories of her school, the Janu-Najanu books and the character in almost all the stories- Ivan.

So, this was the lost connection of the heart. Strange! Everything became clear- why she got attracted to him, why she wanted to talk to him , why was he special ? This was the lost puzzle piece. It was his son's name which connected her to her childhood memories of  the books bought at the book fair and the red van that ferried the books to the, then small, university town .

She met him again when she was least expecting. This time she told him about her childhood and the book fair mentioning that  his son's name was very special to her. This prodded another  set of memories, this time in him- of togetherness and peace that once prevailed in his native village. He told her about the Russian- Ukraine common cultural connections, the stories about clan war and the eventual break up of U.S.S.R. Telling her how it used to be back in time, he confirmed that Ivan was a well-known name in the common local folk tales. The name which stands for the righteous one, the courageous one , the hero.

 She could never stop wondering, how a name could find a long lost memory which was among the sweetest ones, lost in the hum-drum of growing up and running around. 

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