“Which era have you been imported from?”
She shrugged.
“Kanjoos.”
“How dare you!”
“Maya said that,” he defended.
“When?”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“When?”
“When I came to her place for Saal Mubarak lunch. Really? 101 rupees?”
She rolled her eyes — “Fine, I am careful with spending.”
“Stingy. But when it comes to MM, apparently, you got her Hermes burping clothes?”
Her face softened. “Of course I did! She deserves the best.”
“You love her.”
“She is my first niece that I have held in my arms and put to sleep in my bed.”
“Grand niece.”
She grabbed the cabbage ball sitting near the chopping board and threatened to hurl it at him. He ducked. “Hey! Stop, I’m a heart patient.”
“I’ll aim for your head.” She dribbled it in the air.
“You give that to me,” he intercepted it mid-air and took it away from her, replacing it with his mobile. “Order onions, red chilli powder, haldi… do you have jeera?”
“No.”
“Then that too. Toor dal, Surti kolam rice, hing and ghee… no, wait, olive oil. There is a guy named Umesh’s number there. Call him. Ask him if the coriander is fresh. If it is, then order a bunch too.”
“You are talking like a housewife.”
“I am a househusband.”
“Whose?”
Did he hear some heat in that question? Nilay glanced up and smirked — “Jealous, Doctor?”
“In your dreams.”
“Order,” he tipped his chin. “I have been challenged to cook. Let me prove my househusband capabilities.”
————————————————————
“You are amazing…” she moaned, lounging back in her chair, holding her full stomach. “I can’t move after this.”
“Well, thank you,” he stood to his feet and began to collect their plates. Their fancy Italian meal had been transformed into a full Gujarati one — masala khichdi with veggies, a kachumbar of cabbage, tomatoes, cucumbers in lemon-chilli, and chaas.
“I’ll wash the dishes, you cooked and…”
