Raj loved aviyal, a rich concoction
of vegetables in a yellow gravy, especially the discrete sourness of curd,
added in good measure, to give it its famed tangy taste. It was his favourite
dish in the assortment, served on a banana leaf during Onam, Raj had always
enjoyed the feast during Onam, the traditional harvest festival of Kerala,
celebrated with culinary cornucopia. Raj wanted this Onam to be special for
special reasons and he had insisted that Riya dish out the entire spread on the
traditional banana leaf. She had complained that she would be too tired to do the
entire cooking after she returned from work and had suggested eating out. But
Raj was adamant that the traditional festival be observed in the manner
reminiscent of his childhood.
“Why don’t you come and help me
with the cooking. I have also been working during the day. And it is you who
wanted to have this traditional Onam feast for dinner.” Riya yelled from the
kitchen as Raj plopped himself in front of the TV.
"Cooking is your job. Haven’t
you seen the new Airtel Ad. The woman who is a boss in the office still comes
home and cooks for her husband” Raj retorted.
“Really”, Riya sounded
incredulous, “You chauvinist men! That ad was supposed to show that women are
now so successful, that they can be right at the top in their careers, and how
you men have distorted it to suit yourselves”
"Hah”, Raj scoffed, “Ok. Forget
the ad. Lets talk real. Did you not read Indra Nooyi’s interview. How she was
sent out by her own mother to buy milk when she returned home late at night the
day she was declared the boss of PEPSI, because her husband was busy watching a
game on TV. Did you know what her mother told her? You may be the boss at work
dear, but at home, you must first carry out the duties of a wife”
“I know”, Riya sounded angry, “and
she has received much flak for what she said. That statement has done us more
harm and undone all the inspiration that women imbued from her success. “But
Raj”, crooned Riya, segueing deftly to the matter at hand, “Come, help me with
this, if you want your dinner in time. At least grate the coconut, while I make
the Erisseri. I need to cut the pumpkin and boil the red cow peas. I hope I
remember the exact mix.”
Raj grudgingly switched off the
TV. Anyway the Englishmen were making a mockery of the match and didn’t make
for great viewing. The regular trudge of the Indian batsmen back to the
pavilion was exasperating. At least he
could grant Riya her wish. Everyone was entitled to a last wish. So, if her
wish was for him to help her in the kitchen, so be it. Tomorrow he would be
alone. And soon Shweta would join him. He loved her cooking, and she never
called him to the kitchen. He could watch TV, and she would wait on him, and do
his biding. Raj had met her at the gym where she had caught him stealing
amorous looks at her well endowed figure. He had learnt that she was a recent
divorcee and had just moved into the city. They had bonded well over work-out
routines and coffee, and soon Raj was staying over at her place, convincing
Riya of important client meetings out of town, which increased in frequency as
the days passed. It was a symbiotic arrangement, till Shweta wanted Riya out
the equation. It was either her or Riya. It was Shweta, who told him about the
new chemical XDN which on entering the body initiates a massive heart attack
after 12 hours, and does not leave a trace in the blood stream. He had planned
to mix the potion in Riya’s food that night, as they feasted. It was a fool
proof plan. He would spend the mandatory month in perceived mourning, after
which Shweta would move in with him. Nobody would suspect anything, as the
death would be due to natural causes, and he, being in his prime, would be
encouraged to begin life anew by one and all.
Raj looked at the assortment of
vessels on the kitchen counter. Rice was cooked and was in a large aluminium
container next to the stove. The Sambar, a mix of boiled lentils, potatoes,
beans, drumsticks and carrots looked inviting in a large
Salem steel vessel. The next one contained the Payasam, which was a thick mash of
semolina floating on condensed milk. Pappad was fried and was dumped in the
plastic bucket. A copper bottomed utensil was placed next to the
stove to receive the Erisseri once it was cooked. The banana leaves that they
had bought from the local market were washed and kept ready. The Aviyal
was already done and was in a small Borosil bowl, which he had gifted Riya for her last birthday. He had explained, that he thought, he
should buy her something that she could use everyday, and which he hoped would
make her remember him fondly whenever she used it in the kitchen. The look on
her face, told him, that she did not believe what he said made sense even to
him. But he had spent that evening at Shweta’s house and had only remembered
her birthday, when she called him to say that she was waiting to have dinner
with him. The only thing that he could find then was an unwrapped Borosil bowl
in Shweta’s kitchen, a wedding spoil, which she had brought along with her. The Aviyal in that bowl brought a crooked smile on his lips as he recollected that
night.
Raj started grating the coconut.
She needed the coconut to make Ishtoo, the potato stew. He always wondered why
it was called Ishtoo, and not just stew. It was the same thing except that this was
made only with potatoes. Riya loved Ishtoo, but Raj stayed away from it because
of all the carbs. He had decided that
this would be the ideal dish to add the XDN. Just five drops, Shwetha had
warned. Anything more and the taste would be evident and anything less, would
not have the desired effect.
Raj helped lay out the banana
leaves on the table. The first serving was always salt, which he placed on the
left edge of the leaf. Next came a few
pieces of banana chips and after that the pappad. Riya brought the rice and
served it on the leaves using a steel ladle. “Get the Sambar and sit down” I
will serve the rest of the dishes”, she said. After they sat down, Riya picked
up the borosil bowl and served him the Aviyal. “. I know how much you love it.
So I made this one just for you. You know that I have never liked it”.
“Thank You Dear”, Raj smiled. “Here,
let me serve you your favourite dish”, he said as he stirred the bowl of ishtoo
once again and served it next to the rice on her leaf. He had been careful to
add the drops while she was busy with arranging the dishes. And as he watched
her relishing the dish on her leaf, he thought of the freedom that the next
morning would usher in.
As he lay on the bed waiting for
Riya to join him after clearing the dishes, he felt the need to make love to
her one last time. He looked at her as she came in wiping her hands with the
pallu of her white set saree. She had always looked good in a saree and this
one with the golden border, the traditional dress of kerala, made her very
desirable, atleast for now. He grabbed her and as she squealed in mock horror,
pinned her down with both his hands. She looked up at his face as he hovered
over her, lust burning through his cold eyes. Desire filled her as she held him
tight but the face that she saw was not Raj’s but that of Shiv, her colleague
at work and recently her soul mate. He had been her only source of comfort ever
since she discovered about Raj’s dalliance with Shweta. It also helped that he
shared her cab and her shift at the call centre, because his strong presence
was a pillar of strength during the initial tumult. He had even followed Raj
one evening and discovered the house where he spent his nights with his
paramour. Riya had all the evidence, but she refused to confront him and play
the victim. She wanted to pay him back in his own coin. She welcomed Shiv ino
her bed and her life and soon discovered, that he had all the qualities that she
had imagined in a partner. Things had progressed to the extent that they could
no longer bear to live without the other. It was Shiv who told her about
XDN. He had recently read about it on
the net and knew someone who could supply it. Riya had not needed much
prompting. She had been filled with revulsion when she opened her birthday gift
in utter disappointment, and discovered the faded words ‘To Shweta” on a corner
of the hardbound cover. She decided that she would serve him the deadly poison
in that very bowl. She had watched, in grim satisfaction, as he savored his
favourite dish for the very last time.
And as they lay in bed thrusting
at each other, their hate laced with lust, hoping to end the harvest festival
with a fresh bounty, the taste of their favourite dishes of the Onam feast came
regurgitating back into their mouths. And it tasted like death.