Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake (25 page)

The second party order that The Magic Saucepan gets goes smoothly, without a glitch. Mrs Brar, who had placed the order, loves the food, and so do her guests. In a country like India, where hospitality and entertaining people is rooted deeply in our genes, there is always a demand for good home-cooked food. And so our fame spreads. We start getting more and more party orders. By the end of the month, we have successfully catered for nine parties of varying sizes at various south Mumbai homes. One is a kitty party, one a birthday, one a ‘welcome home’ party thrown by a lady for her son who was coming home from Australia, and the others are informal get-togethers. I maintain meticulous accounts of everything. It helps keep track of the profit-and-loss situation. At the end of first month, we have made a tidy profit of eighteen thousand, five hundred and forty-six rupees.

‘Wow Akash! I cannot tell you how thrilled I am!’ I tell him.

‘Told you Nisha, this is just the beginning!’ he says.

I am now no longer nervous about cooking for parties. I know I am good, and the word-of-mouth publicity is working wonders for the company.

Slowly, Akash and I fall into a pattern.

Most weekends now, Akash stays over. Tanya looks forward to his coming over on weekends. So does Mrs B. It has become almost a ritual now. Whenever Akash comes, Mrs B bakes a cake which Akash looks forward to as eagerly as Tanya, and I watch amusedly, at the delight on their faces. We all sit together, having our tea and our pieces of cake.

At times like this, I feel so grateful for all these people in my life. Mrs B and Akash are not my blood relatives. But they are my greatest support system, having seen me through thick and thin. If there is one thing that I have realized, it is this that love and friendship do have a power.

It fills me with happiness, it fills me with peace, and I really start looking forward to Akash coming over on weekends.

One weekend Akash brings home something for me. It is a laptop.

‘High time you got connected, Nisha. This is for you,’ he says.

‘Oh my God, Akash, what was the need for all this?’ I ask.

‘Hey, your company needs it more than you now. Business is expanding and a computer is a must.’

‘Then let me pay for it from the company account.’

‘I knew you would say that! I know you so well.’

‘Don’t try to change the topic now. You tell me how much it is.’

‘Relax, Nisha, this is not a new piece. Our company is getting new laptops for all the managers at my levels.
So they are selling these old ones at depreciated value to the employees. It costs just twenty-five hundred rupees, can you believe it? And this machine is in really good condition as it has been used for less than two years! And only I have been using it, so I know it.’

I am very happy about it. Akash has got the forms too for the internet connection and within five days, I have connectivity.

Akash says we need a website to help grow the business. He takes the help of his IIM friend—a whiz at creating websites—who loves doing such stuff as a hobby. The friend is happy to oblige, and within fifteen days, we have a really impressive website up and running.

Akash is a real pillar of strength.

By the second month, we have made a profit of close to thirty thousand. With business expanding, we decide to hire a lady who comes and helps with the cooking whenever we have a big order. She is Mrs B’s house-help and all too happy to help, me as it means extra money for her too, without her having to take up another full-time job. In the third month, we finally cross the thirty-thousand mark.

It is a big sum for me and Akash insists on a celebration.

Akash says we will not work the following weekend and will instead take a two-day break to Panchgani. He says we would drive there and he knows a lovely place where there is a home stay.

‘But, Akash, I have commitments to fulfil for the next two weekends, and I simply can’t cancel.’

Akash stares at me for a while.

Then he comes over and kisses me, saying ‘Nisha, you are even lovelier as a successful businesswoman. I am so proud of you.’

For the first time in my life, I understand what true love really feels like. And I feel like the luckiest woman on earth to have found it.

Speak Softly Love

M
ost of my clients are really sweet people who love anything I cook for them. But I do get my share of the usual fussy ones who insist I stick around till the food is heated and served. Somehow I don’t like these clients, because not only does it mean additional demands on my time, but the way they talk to me also irks me a little bit. Mrs Singh, my very first client, was a gracious host and a kind human being. But a few of my clients are the nouveau rich, and it is they who I term as ‘pesky puskis’. Akash laughs when I first mention it to him on the phone, in one of my many ‘crib-about-my-clients’ phone calls to him.

‘My God, Nisha! Where in the world do you come up with these terms?’ he laughs uproariously.

‘Hey, what else can I do? I am forced to come up with such names in order to retain my sanity. They create so much fuss that I am forced to make up such names to stay sane. And, listen, mark it in your diary, next Saturday is the Chhabra’s party order. They insist that I be there till food is served. So you will be with me, right?’

‘Do you need to even ask? Of course, I will, Nisha.’

It is at Mrs Chhabra’s party that I see Samir. I had not even for the slightest moment thought he would be one of the guests. I freeze in shock. My heart almost stops beating. He is holding a drink and seems to be in deep conversation with another party guest. There is still time for the party to get started in full swing and many of the guests are yet to arrive, leaving the place looking a bit deserted for a party. Mrs Chhabra insists that I remain there till food is served. I turn around to look at Akash and I know he has seen Samir too. He squeezes my hand to assure me he is with me.

Samir still looks as handsome as he did before our separation. He is busy laughing at something which another guest is saying. It is hard to describe what I feel. This is a guy I lived with, had children with, and also shared a home with. He used to be
mine
. Yet he seems like a complete stranger today. Till now I thought I had been handling this whole break-up scene well, but now, seeing him suddenly like this, all the feelings which I had boxed up and stashed away, come stomping back, making me feel heartbroken again.

It is like an overweight grocery bag which has ripped apart because too much has been stuffed into it, leaving all its contents scattered on the floor. But there is no way I am going to let Samir even see what I feel. I want to be all classy and cool and appear as though I am least bothered by his presence. I know I look marvellous in a brown printed-silk saree which drapes around me so well, especially now that I have lost so much weight. My intention is not to make him feel jealous, but let him
know I am capable of looking super, even after he has ditched me for a bimbo.

I can’t help glancing at him every now and then and each time I do, it is like a stab going straight to my own heart. Then I see Maya and a fresh wave of pain jabs away inside me. I had thought that I had healed, but this business of suddenly seeing them has only shown me how much I am really broken inside.

And then Samir notices me. He looks in my direction again as if to make sure it is me standing a few inches away from him. I am certain he barely recognized me the first time around. Now a slow flicker of recognition dawns on his face. He is stunned to see me and gawks at my apparent transformation. Even after all that transpired between us, I can still read his expressions like a book. I turn away and talk to Akash on purpose, cracking a silly joke and laughing. I want Samir to see that I am getting on just fine without him. Samir quickly turns away as if he did not see me and I cannot wait to get away from the party.

Finally, the food is served, and Akash and I talk to Mrs Chhabra for a while, after which we leave.

As we are driving back in the car, I tell Akash that I feel lousy.

‘Why should you feel lousy, Nisha? It is he who walked away. It is he who does not have the guts or even the courage to face you because he was the one who ran away in the first place, Nisha. You stayed behind in the marriage. You gave it all you got. Too bad it wasn’t good enough for him.’

I desperately want to believe Akash. But one part of
me also knows that I am to blame for our failed marriage as well. Samir and I simply did not put in enough effort to make our marriage work. I was too busy being a mother that I had neglected him. There was no fire in our sex life which had become like a chore that one ticks off tiredly at the end of the day like an item on a ‘to-do’ list. I had indeed changed in many ways after our marriage.

Just as I have changed in so many ways after he left me.

Akash has switched on the music in the car and it is Andy Williams’ deep voice which floods the car with the song ‘Speak Softly Love’ from the motion picture
The Godfather
.

Speak softly, love and hold me warm against your heart

I feel your words, the tender trembling moments start

We’re in a world, our very own Sharing a love that only few have ever known

Wine-coloured days warmed by the sun

Deep velvet nights when we are one…

Both of us listen to the song in rapt silence.

When the song is over, Akash looks at me and then squeezes my hand, saying, ‘Never value those who do not value who you are. You owe that much to yourself.’

I squeeze his hand back gratefully. Deep down I am happy to be by his side and he drives on in Mumbai’s roads lit up by the city lights.

Akash has to go out of town on work and his flight is due early next morning. So he does not stay over. But
he comes upstairs and helps me carry Tanya and Rohit back to my place from Mrs B’s apartment. Mrs B has given us a separate key to her house, as that way she does not have to stay awake to wait up for us till the wee hours.

As Akash leaves for his place, he tells me not to think about it and just to put it out of my system altogether. He reminds me that I am now a businesswoman making good progress and that I should not let anybody, anybody at all, get me down. I tell him I will be fine.

Just as I am falling asleep, the phone rings. I expect it to be Akash on the other end and so I answer groggily with my eyes closed, without even looking at the screen to check the caller’s name. I sit upright when I hear Samir’s voice.

It is like I have got an electric shock.

‘Nisha, I need to talk to you.’

I keep quiet.
What does he want now?

‘Hello Nisha—are you there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Look, I don’t know what the heck you think you are doing trying to embarrass me like this by getting into some catering business. Do you realize how bad it makes me look in my circles? I have offered you enough money, haven’t I? What the heck is all this nonsense about supplying food to people’s parties? And what is Akash doing with you?’

I am outraged at the sheer audacity of what he says. He is calling because it makes
him
look bad? How is it that he did not bother in the least about whether it will make him look bad when he left his wife for another
woman? How is it that he did not care about how it will make
me
look, when he deserted ship?

‘Just fuck off, Samir,’ I say and hang up.

He calls back. I don’t even know why I answer.

‘Don’t talk like that, Nisha. The least we can do is be civil and talk properly to each other like mature adults,’ he says, and I know he is fuming.

In a way I am enjoying his anger. I am enjoying seeing him getting all worked up like this. I don’t know if I am nurturing a tiny little hope somewhere that we can indeed get back together.

‘Look, Samir,’ I say, ‘I wasn’t good enough for you and you left. Now what I do with my life is my business. I don’t think you have any right to tell me how I should lead it. You lost that right the day you decided to leave me. I have finally found my calling, and too bad if you think catering is a demeaning job. I do not want your money, your house—nothing.’

He is silent for a long time. Finally he asks, ‘What is with Akash? You seeing him?’ I can sense the anticipation in his voice. Maybe it’s jealousy? I sort of feel good about this, thinking he still cares for me a little bit. His voice has softened and he almost sounds like a little boy asking if he can be taken to the zoo. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. What is it to you, Samir? How can you even ask? You are the one in love with Maya and you are asking me about Akash?’ I say.

Samir does not know how to respond to that. So he changes tracks quickly.

‘Touché. By the way, you seem to have lost a great deal of weight. It suits you.’

‘Thank you,’ is all I can muster.

Then he asks how the kids are doing. Now that’s a rarity. I don’t know what to answer. I don’t know why he is asking. He was always the outsider, the uninvolved parent. He was never there for any of the parent–teacher meetings, school plays, sports days, nothing. Never once did he take Tanya out all by himself. Tanya of course has grown up believing that this is how fathers are. I want to explain all this to him. But I have no energy. The hurt is too much and there are so many layers of pain, gathered along over the years, piled up one over the other. To peel them all slowly and to rectify what went wrong seems like an impossible task. Also, I am not the same person anymore.