My Husband | ✓

37. Baingan Bharta

Did not proof read.

Author's Pov:

Pushing her arms back and forth, Ananya jetted to her destination, jumping the stairs, dodging a stair or two in between, and pumping her legs as fast as they could go. Cold air bit through her lungs. Her breathing was labored, her legs were tired, and the wind was just torturing her eyes.

Once she made it to their little garden, she zoomed under the shade of trees as if she was soaring like an eagle on a mission. No way was she going to allow the drizzle to wet her, which would turn into a full-blown rain, eventually.

She pumped her legs, gaining momentum with each step. Three more leaps and she made it to the portico from under the shade of the tree. She threw her arm in the air for victory.

Hurriedly, she stepped into the living room. Without much thought, she dumped the pile of washed and sun-dried laundry over the sofa in the living room. Not too long later her eyes beheld him, sitting on a chair.

Tears came as if, at long last, his accumulated ocean of brine was trickling through. He wiped his cheeks every few seconds with his left arm while his right arm held a knife.

Cutting onions always leads to some kind of crying-watery eyes full-on tears streaming down the face like you just watched a Nicholas Sparks movie at worst.

Vivek sat in the living room chopping veggies for dinner and the lunch next day. Upon the chopping board are flecks of coriander leaf and neatly diced tomatoes, bright green and red on a calming brown. They are scattered much the same of autumnal leaves, yet speak of springtime in their gaiety. He was left with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks in their living room while chopping onions.

"Should I dice the potatoes or finely chop them?" Vivek asked, rubbing his eyes with his left elbow, picking up a potato with his right arm.

"Does the recipe ask for the garlic to be minced or chopped?" He posed another query, the chatter sacrosanct to an Indian kitchen.

"Chopped, for both." Ananya slouched on the sofa.

With a satisfactory answer, he went back to his chopping. Ananya began folding the washed clothes she brought a while ago.

"Where are the chillies?" He asked a few moments later.

"In the green bowl," she answered, folding his shirt.

"There is no green bowl here," he stated, scanning the table.

"I might have left it in the kitchen." She replied when she turned around in her seat to peep at the table to find the bowl.

Vivek got to his feet and walked towards the kitchen.

"I don't see any green bowl here," Vivek screeched from the kitchen.

"Check on the kitchen slab near the sink. I washed a handful of green chillies and dropped them in a green bowl." She shouted back.

"Nope. Found none." Vivek said after a moment.

Huffing, Ananya clambered down the sofa and walked into the kitchen. She noticed few neatly scrubbed teacups but did not find any green bowl with chillies on the kitchen platform. Bewildered, she walked around in the kitchen scanning it.

"I remember washing them and then putting them in a green bowl," A frown etched on her beautiful facial features.

"Chhod do Anu, Now again fetch some fresh chillies from the refrigerator," Vivek spoke, taking out a fresh bowl for chillies.

A chuckle escaped her lips when she opened the refrigerator to fetch him some other fresh chillies. A green bowl with washed chillies was housed in the middle compartment of the refrigerator.