Cookie Baking
My husband, Ajay, always made jokes about something not being right in a light way to get my attention, and I did the same, and we called it “popcorn time.” The first fifteen years of marriage were about getting to know each other well; romantic encounters, procreation, and togetherness until midlife struck the two of us. I chose to be a homemaker, and Ajay worked in Peenya, the northwest part of Bangalore city, as the head of the paper products division.
Ajay, was involved in ensuring the efficient working of the plant, right from handling the raw material inventory and pulp production to the final paper products such as copy paper, tissue paper, packaging material, etc. Off late, there was a lot of pressure at work. Peenya is an industrial area home to several manufacturing units; my husband’s paper manufacturing company is one of them. We stay in Rajarajeshwari Nagar, about twenty kilometers from Peenya.
It was five in the evening when my kids, Arin and Ankita, were watching TV, and there was a mention of the Chinese celebrating the “Hungry Ghost Festival” in the news. Just as the news was over, Ajay came home from his office.
“Oh! “OK, I never knew people worshiped spirits.” Ankita, my daughter, exclaimed, stunned.
“Worshiping ancestors is a part of our Indian culture too, just that we celebrate it on different dates; even western countries celebrate Halloween,” Ajay explained and enquired the kids about their day in school.
“Good!” the kids said synchronously.
“Finish your science project, Arin; otherwise, you will miss your deadline. No more discussion on werewolves and ghosts,” I yelled from the kitchen.
Arin brought his science kit to the living room, took a big block of ice from the refrigerator, and continued his science project. Ankita was just lazing on the couch watching TV, and Ajay was reading a book. I made noodles for dinner.
We all had our dinner together. Arin and Ankita walked to their bedroom after they finished dinner.
I entered the bedroom and changed into my light green nightgown while Ajay donned his pajamas, and I continued talking to him, “All I see on TV these days is werewolves, magic, and ghosts in every episode.”
“Well, what about Harry Potter?” He asked, holding me from behind and pushing me into his lap as he sat on the bed. I kissed him and left the bedroom, turning off the living room lights without answering. I saw Arin’s science project lying in the living room. My hands froze as I lifted the block of ice and dumped it in the sink. Arin had used it for his science project and left it on the table to melt. When I saw it, I quickly cleaned it up.
Ajay, waiting for me, finished his nighttime prayers. I touched my cold hands to his cheeks to surprise him.
“Ouch!” He shouted. I laughed and touched his cheeks again.
He tried to slap my hands this time, but my reflexes were too quick, and I pulled them back so that he beat himself. I rolled in laughter, and he couldn’t stop smiling.
He dragged me to his side, and I brushed his hairy hands to feel his warmth. Why are your hands so cold? He asked me
Deep in thought about frozen hands, werewolves, and ghosts, I ignored his question and asked, “When we die, does the soul unite with the light or remain a fragment by itself?” If the soul merged with the big light, would it separate when we were born again? Is that possible? “How can a soul fragment that has merged with the big light separate itself unless it is labeled?”
“When life has thrown you abundance, enjoy it.” Why are you worried about what happens to a soul after someone is dead? “Different theories are preached in different books. Some philosophies say the soul remains separate and isn’t merged with the big light, while others say that the soul merges with the big light. It depends on what you want to believe in.“All religious books preach the right way of living and the attitude with which you should approach life—karma, mindfulness, and ways to attain salvation. You don’t believe in God or these religious books, so what’s the point of any explanation?”
“What do you mean by that?” “You’re saying there’s no such thing as an atheist?” I asked.
“Getting answers to your deep questions requires reading different religious books.” “The Buddhism and Hindu philosophy that I follow denotes that most people unknowingly follow their preachings,” Ajay said, looking deeply into my eyes.
I blushed and added, “I’m still an atheist.” I don’t want to belong to any particular religion, and I don’t believe in God.
Then he continued, “Your discipline sometimes makes you look selfish. Added to this, you would win the highest accolade for perpetual faultfinder; if you worked in my workplace in the quality department, you would do very well, I suppose,” “The nights when you push yourself to the limit to finish all the chores and then get angry and yell at us because you’re exhausted, make me wonder...
I cut him off. How on earth did you call me selfish and a faultfinder? The blush on my face disappeared into a frown. I thought it would turn into a romantic night when he held me tight and said all the beautiful things about me to melt my heart. Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of those nights. I turned my head, switched off the lights, and hit the bed, tired.
The alarm buzzed. It was five am.
I hit snooze and slept for a few more minutes before the second round of noise dragged me back to consciousness.
I got up, showered, unloaded the dishes, and hung my clean clothes in the closet.
I entered the kitchen at about six a.m.
I made rotis filled with cottage cheese—a sort of Indian quesadilla—and packed them into my children’s and husband’s lunch boxes. It took me almost an hour, and I kept looking at the time, waiting for Ajay to show up.
“My husband told me I was a ‘selfish nagger’ the previous night, which was difficult to digest. I am the best homemaker in the world, and Ajay is lucky to be married to me,” I thought.
I always cook sumptuous food for my kids and husband. Sure, my husband is a health freak and didn’t like my cheesy ravioli or chole bhature for lunch, but that didn’t make me selfish; I was only a little nonchalant when preparing healthy options.
So, today, I decided to dig at him before he left for work. I couldn’t help but think he had nicknamed me “selfish nagger.” Of course, I would have agreed to be called a “selfie wife” because of how often I take pictures of myself on my phone, but why a “selfish faultfinder”? I just didn’t understand.
Finally, he entered the kitchen.
His phone buzzed.
It was his mom.
He drank his tea while talking to her and followed that with calls from his colleagues and a stock broker.
“Selfish Faultfinder” kept irking me, and I didn’t want to let him go to work without discussing how he thought I was selfish. However, his phone buzzed whenever I opened my mouth, which gave me no chance. I waited patiently, but he got dressed, kissed me, and hurriedly left. Throughout the morning, we barely said a handful of words to each other, none relevant to my hurt feelings or simmering irritation.
By nine a.m., our home was an empty nest.
I made a cup of tea, read a book, and then napped for three hours. Some days, I would go to a friend’s house in the afternoon; other days, I baked cookies or cakes.
Today, I decided to make spicy cookies. When I make sugar cookies, I am the one to eat most of them, so I decided to try something different today. I grabbed cinnamon, pepper, cumin, salt, and kasoori methi from the spice rack. I mixed them into the flour along with olive oil. I preheat my oven, let the dough rest for half an hour, and then bake my cookies.
It was four p.m., time for the kids to come home from school, and my thoughts were racing back and forth, wondering what I had done so wrong for him to call me a “selfish nagger.” The aroma of the spices at the front door made them rush into the kitchen to fill their hungry bellies.
My teen kids, Arin and Ankita, would soon finish school and embark on college. My life was so streamlined and boring, like clockwork.
