One Day At A Time

Chapter Twenty - What's Cooking?

"Arnav! Watch out!" Khushi pulled his hand away from the saucepan on the stove. "Can you not see the seeds pop along with the hot oil? Where are your reflexes?"

The mustard seeds crackled and danced over the hot oil in the saucepan as Arnav stood glaring at her, frustrated that her paranoia of him getting burnt or hurt while cooking was coming in the way of him learning to cook the first-ever dish in his life! Khushi had stood next to him for the last half an hour, monitoring him while she made phulkas on the other end of the stove. She had watched him as he chopped a few vegetables and kept admonishing him for the incorrect way in which he held the knife, the wrong way he sliced the vegetables and finally, for the way he stood too close to the stove while the oil heated up in the saucepan. Losing his patience despite her heartwarming concern and love for him, he stood looking at her with a grim face holding a spoonful of turmeric powder in his hand, awaiting her further instructions.

"What do you want me to do with this, Khush? Throw this in from the doorway after attaching this to a long stick or should I use a crane to put it in the pan?"

Her eyes blazed as she stared at him for a moment. "Fine! Burn your hand! Do what you want! Aai, you take over. I am so done with this." Khushi raised her hands in the air in exasperation as she moved away from him and got back to finishing the remaining phulkas. "Doesn't know anything about the hazards of cooking or the difference between cooking oil and hair oil! Chaley khaana banaane, Laat Saaheb!" She muttered under her breath as she rolled out another one furiously.

He smiled, watching her mumble and use one of her floury fingers to wipe the corner of her eye, leaving a trail of flour on its way. A sudden feeling of domesticity gripped him, and a longing and a wish made a home in his heart instantly. He swallowed with difficulty when the thought of being away from her for a whole year hit him with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs.

Arnav's plan of experimenting with cooking came into existence because he was desperate to spend every available moment with Khushi. When he realised by the afternoon that she was helping out Anagha with the cooking and couldn't get out of the house to meet him, he decided to join her instead with an excuse of wanting to learn a simple dish which would be easier for him to cook in London on his own. It was a perfect plan, and all was going well until he realised that Khushi had taken the whole cooking thing very seriously. She cared too much for him, he chuckled at the thought and then corrected it. She loved him too much! A big smile adorned his lips as he turned to look at his Ma, who was watching him with a glint in her eyes.

Cooking was a tough job for a man who had never stepped inside the kitchen to do anything other than have a drink or sit on the worktop to chat with his mother while she cooked every day. But that was what life had been for Arnav and Kabir at home. Shaila's sole objective in life was to ensure that her beloved sons never lifted a finger to do any housework, simply because she belonged to the school of thought that boys were not meant to do these mundane things. They were supposed to study, play or read books and never enter the kitchen. Arnav had given up challenging this weird thought process a long time ago when amidst a big argument, his mother had put her foot down and categorically asked him to mind his own business and never meddle with the drudgery of domestic chores. He, till date, never understood why he wasn't allowed to, especially when his mother managed the whole show single-handed without a house help!

"Shaadi kar lo, beta. Sab problem khatm! Hain na, Khushu?" Shaila, who was busy chatting with Anagha at the dining table, had been watching the drama unfold in front of her eyes.

Arnav and Khushi exchanged startled glances.

"Baap re! Kaki, you sound like that doting mother in an old Bollywood movie right now! Nirupa Roy!" Khushi glanced at him and then at her, wondering why and how this bazooka had landed right in the middle of the kitchen out of nowhere.