“I brought you dinner.” - Amresh and Devika, maybe?
Hi! This should have come a lot sooner… but here it is anyway. I hope you like it.
The train zoomed past vast stretches of mango groves and potato fields. Its steady rocking motion, accompanied by the roar of the track’s friction, made Devika feel rather queasy. But on the upper berth, Amresh slept rather soundly. His legs and feet were folded rather awkwardly, and his knees jutted out of the bed’s edge. It had to be uncomfortable but for a man as large as him, there was no other way to lie down on that tiny berth. On the lower berth, a young mother sang softly to her infant son, presumably to put him to sleep.
“Moh Batuk Loguum Deg…” the woman’s voice cooed. “Shwas Khich Khich Wang-mayam… Hokus Bokus Teli Wan su Kus…”
“What language is that?” Devika whispered to the woman.
“Koshur,” the woman replied. “Kashmiri. Sorry if I was too loud.”
“No, no, it is very beautiful.”
The woman chuckled. “Thank you.”
Devika did not say anything more. A moment later, the singing continued, punctuated by Amresh’s gentle snores. But sleep did not come to her. Tired as she was, her eyes refused to close. As the view outside the window changed color, she forced herself to be hopeful. Delhi, she wanted to believe, would be good for them. A few minutes later, the singing stopped.
“Are you going to visit relatives in Delhi?” the Kashmiri mother asked Devika.
“No, we are moving to Delhi for my new job.” She answered with a smile in her voice.
“Cook, you mean? You cook food in a hotel?”
“Yes, something like that.
“Wow, maybe you can teach me something nice to make for my son. He is always asking me to make pizza and burger and junk food at home. But his stupid mother has no such skills.”
“Devika took out a piece of paper from her purse and scribbled her number on it. “You can call me and I will tell you when I host a workshop. You can attend that.”
“Thank you,” the woman said. “By the way, my name is Tarang. My husband’s family owns a spice and dry fruit shop in INA market. Maybe you can come and buy your cooking supplies from there.”
Intrigued, Devika asked, “INA market? The market that sells imported goods?”
“Yes, the very same. Our shop is called Shakti Spice Store. Please come. If you say I referred you and that you are a cook, you will also get a 30% discount.”
“Thank you so much,” Devika said, and meant it. She didn’t know anything about Delhi, and she had only heard of the famous INA market. But now she knew a shop there where she would also get a discount. A familiar tingle filled her fingers. Perhaps her craving for pumpkin spice profiteroles would be satisfied sooner than she had expected.
The car ride from the station to their new apartment took 45 minutes. The dusty, polluted Delhi air didn’t help matters.
But as expected, Amresh handled it a lot better than Devika.
“Atishoo…” Devika sneezed for the tenth time in as many minutes. “We need to go back to Nainital. I can’t take this…. This… is… Atishoo… too much for me.”
“Get used to it… Delhi can be worse. Just wait for May-June. This is nothing.”
Their taxi driver navigated the bumps rather expertly but despite his best efforts, the jostling and jumping made Devika’s back hurt. The cacophony of honking cars at every turn and signal was murder on her ears.
“How do people live here?” she held her knees tightly as they crossed a particularly rough, broken patch of road covered in mud and trash.
“Oh, come on, Hyderabad isn’t much better,” Amresh grinned. “Delhi has its problems, but you are being mean right now.”
“Hyderabad is loads better than this.”
“I am not going to get into an argument with you now.”
Amresh leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. Devika huffed her disagreement one final time and waited for their ride to end.
At long last, they reached their new locality, Giriraj Housing Society in Lodi Colony.
Their landlord, a portly old Sikh in his late 60s greeted them at the gate.
“Welcome, ji, welcome,” he said jovially. “Myself Balwinder Singh. We have your apartment ready for you.”
The apartment, if one could call it that, was a cramped two-room space with a kitchen so tiny that two people couldn’t stand in it at the same time. Amresh, with his 6-foot-3 frame could not stand straight in the kitchen unless he stooped his shoulders a little. The bathroom was of a similar size and the hot water tap on the sink was broken. The one on the shower did not work. A somewhat rusty heating rod hung on the back of the bathroom door but even its wire looked old, brittle, and worn out. The lighting in the entire apartment was dim. Devika flicked the switches on the switchboards only to realize that half of them were loose and didn’t work.
“What is the rent again?” she asked, visibly disappointed by what she was seeing.
“Only 12,000 a month, utilities extra,” the landlord said nonchalantly. “Best price in this area. Only ten minutes from Khan Market, Habitat Center, and Sai Temple. Heart of Delhi, ji, heart of Delhi.”
“Fine, we will take it,” she sighed. “Amresh, do you have any questions?”
“Er… how much do the utilities come to each month?” he asked.
“About 2,000… usually less if you don’t get internet.”
“Welcome, ji. Let me know if you need anything. My number is taped to the kitchen door.” Balwinder Singh saw himself out and soon, Amresh and Devika were left alone in the apartment.
“Don’t talk to me,” she said and began unpacking the mattress. “I am taking the room on the left. You can have the one on the right.”
“Devika, I… I am sorry,” Amresh’s voice was rough. “I didn’t know it would be this bad.”
“This bad? Oh really, what did you think we would get for fucking 12,000 bucks. Heart of Delhi, my foot!”
“Look, I will get everything repaired. By this week’s end, the taps and switches will work. And we can repaint the place, liven it up a bit.”
“You liven up this rathole. I want nothing to do with it. By next month, I am moving out.”
“But I’ve already paid the rent for the first three months.”
“Then you can slum it here. I can’t.”
Amresh watched helplessly as she dumped her belongings on her bare mattress and grabbed her purse.
“I am going to my hotel. Don’t know when I will be back.”
“But… you don’t even the know the city… we… at least let me drop you there.”
“No, I can get an auto. I saw a couple waiting outside the gate. Please don’t follow me. I need some space.”
Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and her eyes moist with unshed tears. Amresh knew she meant what she said. He didn’t stop her. As the door slammed behind her, the dinginess of their new home seemed to bite away at him too. The stale mustiness that hung in the air, the cobwebs on the ceiling, and the sense of impoverishment that engulfed each nook and cranny made him want to run away too.
But he was a fighter—quite literally, even if he didn’t know it. His princess would not live in austerity again.
Despite his own tiredness after the uncomfortable train journey, the lingering stiffness in his limbs after the accident, and the emotional weight of Devika’s anger, he filled up a bucket with soapy water and got to work.
Devika entered the lobby of the Lalit with butterflies in her stomach. She wasn’t expected to join until the following Wednesday. But it couldn’t hurt to get a feel of the place. The small coffee shop towards the far end of the lobby boasted of a large selection of baked goods. Croissants, muffins, tea cakes, Danish pastries, eclairs, and a wide selection of sandwiches graced the menu. A part of her was tempted to try the caprese salad on everything bagel, but an image of Amresh’s crestfallen face floated into her mind.
She decided on a cup of black coffee and settled down to watch the going-on of the lobby.
As she sipped on her coffee, she saw tourists and guests arrive and check in. She saw groups of well-dressed Delhi elites make their way to one of the many expensive restaurants of the hotel. A pianist played classical melodies on an ivory piano stationed just next to the elevator. No one paid any mind to him except for a little girl who wanted to touch the keys for herself.
The pianist, a kind-looking Korean man, taught the child to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle,’ which she then practiced for the next five minutes.
As the day dragged on and she finished two more cups of coffee, —the last one, a latte—her mind wandered back to Amresh.
She asked herself why she was so mad at him. What had he done to earn her ire?
Well, he shouldn’t have offered to take care of the rent if this was all he could afford. Hadn’t she offered to get them a decent apartment? Why hadn’t he said anything? Was this about his bruised male ego?
Oh, she was sick of men and their pseudo-macho ways.
For his fucking pride, he expected her to tough it out in a dingy pigeonhole with no proper lighting and no hot water.
Was it right that he always expected her to suffer for his damn ego?
Where did that come from?
Unbidden, she saw flashes of herself sleeping on a rough stone floor, of her skin itching red after being bitten by ants, of her belly growling.
She shook her head to clear it.
Now was not the time for those weird, uncomfortable dreams that she hated.
She needed to go back and fix this. She checked the time on her watch. Her eyes widened as she realized that she’d been sitting in the coffee shop for over 6 hours.
A wave of remorse came over her. Her poor Amresh! He didn’t deserve her anger. Of course, he had mismanaged things. And he sucked at communicating. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her on purpose.
She called for the bill. It was almost physically painful to pay 1,200 rupees for her three coffees.
“That’s ten percent of our monthly rent,” she thought. Maybe even Amresh had a point. Delhi was an expensive city. Maybe she needed to learn a thing or two about living on little.
If he, the son of extremely wealthy parents could do it, so could she.
She hailed an auto for Lodi Colony, her new home.
This time, the cool March air gently caressed her cheeks. In the dark, Delhi came alive with the hustle and bustle of brightly lit markets, pubs, bars, and roadside eateries.
“Bhaiya, is there a place nearby where I could get some dinner packed?” she asked her autowala.
“There is a dosa place in Lodi Colony itself, madam,” he said. “Cheap and clean food. Very famous. Always full of people.”
“Perfect. Please stop there for a few minutes.”
As expected, the dosa stall was indeed crowded. It took Devika several minutes to get her order of masala idlis and Mysore dosas packed. The sweaty, hot atmosphere coupled with the thick sambhar smell reminded her a little bit of her Hyderabad days. Maybe, it would help her ease the tension with Amresh too. Also, to her utter delight, the entire meal cost her less than 300 bucks.
Ten minutes later, the auto dropped her outside the Giriraj Housing Society.
Instinct yelled at her to wrinkle her nose at the smell of rotting garbage that greeted her the moment she entered through the main gate. But steeling herself, she marched on to Building C, where her apartment was.
A ball of dread sat heavy in her belly as she stood outside the door. She didn’t knock. She gently pushed the door to see if it was open. Chances were that it would be. Amresh would never lock the door in her face.
She was right. Slowly, she opened the door and stepped in.
She sucked in a breath at what she saw.
The tiny house was bathed in the soft golden glow of fairy lights. The walls no longer had the pale distemper finish from the morning. Plain off-white paint and elegant flower motifs in pastel shades covered the walls. She noticed the brand new switch boards and three new, discreetly placed plug points. A single glance towards the kitchen and the bedrooms showed her that the entire apartment had been given a makeover in the six short hours that she’d been gone. She was sure that if she went into the bathroom, she would find it fitted with new taps and an instant geyser.
Her eyes teared over at what that meant.
Her loveable, sweet idiot!
She hated herself for ever doubting him, for ever doubting his love for her, for ever thinking that he had a male ego problem.
Careful to not make a noise, she crept into the right bedroom. Sure enough, he was sprawled on the naked mattress, surrounded by paint cans, used paint brushes, and a partially open toolkit whose contents had been stuffed in so haphazardly that it couldn’t close properly.
She knelt to see his face. His lips were slightly parted and his hair smelled faintly of sweat and varnish.
Holding back her tears, she softly tapped him on the shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. I brought you dinner. Let’s eat.”
“Five more minutes, please,” he mumbled and turned the other way.
Devika let out a watery little chuckle. She couldn’t deny him the five minutes, not when he looked like a 5-year-old sleeping with his mouth open.
“Okay, I will go lay the table.”
Over the next few minutes, Devika opened the containers of food and served it in the china bowls and plates they had brought back from Nainital. She was touched to see that each utensil had been washed, dried, and put in its proper place. Not a speck of dirt was to be found on any surface. The drawers and cupboards too were lined with newspaper. The spice box was filled with turmeric, red chili powder, garam masala, mustard seeds, coriander powder, salt, and sugar—all the spices his mother kept in her kitchen. The spice rack, on the other hand, was filled with bottles of dried herbs and gourmet spice blends– Sage, marjoram, tarragon, chervil, za’atar, ras el hanout, advieh, dukkah, baharat, herbes de provence, and fines herbes. She smiled when familiar names like basil, thyme, parsley, and rosemary were not be seen anywhere. Obviously, fresh bunches of those would be in the refrigerator.
Yet again, she felt terrible about her outburst earlier. She was still a little miffed about the size of their apartment. But she couldn’t complain about its condition anymore. In almost no time, he had changed its very DNA.
Despite a strong smell of thinner and varnish, the aroma of jasmines placed in various little corners, was unmistakable.
She carried the food out to the table. She peeped into the room. He wasn’t asleep on the mattress anymore.
While she waited for him to freshen up in the bathroom, she thought of the best way to apologize to him. He would have some sweet, post-dinner TLC for dessert. She, for the first time in her life, would eat humble pie… and even more strangely, by her own free will!
@bleedinknight @heyifinallyhaveablog @ruminationsofaraven @ratnas-musings Hope you guys like it. Tagged you here because y’all are into the modern AU.
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