Your channas are spilling everywhere", my husband exclaimed as I try to coarse my spoon filled with a dozen chickpeas into my mouth cavity (which is a balancing act as it is) through layers of face shield and mask; it was a nightmare. We were sitting at the Chennai airport in PPEs and all the sweat leaving my pores was making me hungry. I might as well die out of Corona rather than hunger, I thought as I opened my steel dabba much to the surprise and tch-tching of my overbearing husband.
"Yeah but I'm trying so hard not to, that counts", he shook his head resigned and fully aware of what he married himself into five months ago.
We were returning back to Cochin after three months of being stuck in Chennai due to the lockdowns.
"At least we are together he would say", while I frowned like a frump around the house.
"But why can't we be together in a beautiful sea-side resort being pampered with oil massages and fancy mocktails"
"Karona ye sab baatein", he would say with finality and I would eye-roll at his insipid wordplay.
Fast forward to three months later and finally my first big outing, other than my usual crusades to the grocery or medical stores of course, and was it a TASK!
I had to replace my beautifully knit dreams of lounging in a warm bubbly jaccuzzi at some 3-star (I have middle class dreams) in Bali for dragging suitcases filled with homemade masala and a lifetime supply for rotis in a tepid air condition-less airport, subjected to being shot mercilessly with infrared gun on our foreheads every direction you turn in and surrounded by people in surgical gowns who were moving around with either the suave as one does after performing a 15-minute appendicectomy or a wobble which reminds one of the web footed duck; there was no in-between.
As I sat on the "don't occupy this seat" seat, next to my husband (I mean it should be don't occupy this seat unless it's your mom/dad/brother/sister/husband, but I think they ran out of place to write it.) I looked around and saw that you could clearly see how shitty the airport was now that it was completely deserted. The cracked and chipped tiles and the musty glass windows made one feel that this airport was one for the horror movies.
Soon the boarding call began and like someone was distributing free snacks the so- called surgeon lookalikes shuffled around in their robes and hurriedly barged their way to the front of the line. I almost felt like just shouting this out to a 50ish year old who had exchanged his mask for a groin mad: "This is not Vijayawada station, uncle! The plane ain't going to leave with you"
So due to this whole situation airlines have started this "select your seat online only" drama. This basically entitles you to select seats ranging from free to a million dollars per seat. Before you ask, free seat is where you are basically dressed like a scarecrow and tied to the front of the airplane and for a million dollar seat they let you drive the plane. So my husband and I got seats for 350 bucks each (because middle class) and we thought that entitled us to the entire row and the middle seat would be empty. But there sat plonked between both of our seats Dr. Would-be Derek Shepherd in his scrubs with his mask dangling of one ear and wearing a pair of earphones (Not his fault, he thought Corona spreads through ears)
Chaos ensued all over the plane and sometime after a thousand remarks by the airhostess of "please fasten your seat belts" to "no, you cannot spray sanitizer all over the plane we've done that for you" to "I'm sorry if you don't believe me but we have because that's the protocol" to "stop spraying sanitizer on me I AM TALKING TO YOU", we took off.
"We're home!" I exclaimed as I sat precariously balancing two handbags on the car seat on an Ola cab breathing in the nascent monsoon air (as much as I could from the n95 mask) The feeling of arriving home is unmatched and at the end of the day, even if you're clad in three layers of anti-microbial fabric hustling through infrared scanners looking at a 14-day home quarantine, somehow it all seems worth it.
"Now I'm only dreading the mess the house would be in. I'm up for anything, ANYTHING, just no dead pigeons in the house", my husband cried out. Little did he know a whole other debacle awaited us.
I laughed listening to his misplaced concerns. An isolated incident where he had forgotten to shut the balcony doors while going to work which led to a series of misfortunate albeit comical events that had caused him some unspoken life-long trauma. But that's a story for another time.
We pulled up at our apartment amid faint spells of rain and the chhapp-chapping of our feet in the puddles.
As the key turned into the lock I ran in first to look for any dead pigeons so that I could be the bearer of bad news for my husband. The house seemed just as we left it: quiet and welcoming. The warm sunset feverently lit up the beige vitrified living room tiles in a soothing orange colour. I was ready to kick back for the night with a cleansing shower after a long and taxing day. But my aspirations were short-lived.
"Huzi the fridge is off!", I bellowed from the kitchen. I could almost feel myself get wobbly in the knees.
"Yeah sure", he replied sarcastically.
"I'm serious! I think the switch tripped or something. Come here!"
He rushed towards my side.
"Go on open it!", He gestured. I was already perspiring.
"Ugh, I can't!" I said as I slowly opened the door to take a peak.
I saw black.
Black grime covering the slab of butter in the ice box. A collosal community of black coloured maggots wriggling, squirming, writhing and feasting on a swiss chocolate bar. Black water swishing around in the vegetable box with pieces of disintegrated veggies floating on top.
I saw white.
White spongy fungus on chappatis and minced mutton and on jars of olives and jalapenos. They almost reminded me of the cotton clouds I saw from the window of the flight back home and ruined that memory forever.
I shut the door of my three-month old infant fridge in five seconds of opening it. And I believe I saw my entire life passing by within those few seconds.
My husband and I looked at each other bewildered, bamboozled and utterly disoriented.
48 hours of discarding, wiping, hosing down, scouring, exterminating, disinfecting and basically eviscerating the fridge and it's contents amidst at least 10 suicidal thoughts, 50 cups of coffee and 500 pick-me-ups from my husband, we both lay on the bed reeling from the events and feeling agony in all of our limbs and joints.
"You know I discovered a really interesting thing about maggots in these past two days", my husband said bemusedly
"Do not tell me", I said, already feeling bile rising in my throat.
"When u press them on their head end to kill them the entire body and guts just ooze out from their rear end while making a fart sound. And I think ill carry this knowledge for the rest of my life."
"Ewww!", I shouted hitting him with a pillow which ensued a jestful pillow fight. Just one of many others.
