“I don’t enjoy outside food as much. I mean… I am a hardcore eater. I would devour the hell out of some good heavy Punjabi dishes, naan, dal fry, rice. Most of the places I have my work meetings at are just…”
“Bland?” She completed.
“Yes. Sushi and Italian and ramen,” he scowled. “And I don’t want to eat heavy gravies until this is sorted,” he patted his chest.
“So?”
“So I will go home and make myself vagharelo rotlo.”
“What’s that?”
“I have bajra rotla in the fridge, I’ll make a one-pot meal out of it, with dahi and guvaar. It’s really tasty, and filling, and healthy…”
Her face split into a smile.
“Why are you smiling at me like I am crazy?”
“Not crazy, but you are definitely sweet.”
“Sweet enough to have ice cream with?”
She shrugged — “Maybe. But not here.” She pointed with her eyebrows.
“Then?”
“Drive, I’ll show you.”
————————————————————
Nilay was in a whole different world. She had made him drive to Santacruz, taken him into a hole-in-the-wall ice cream shop named Gokul, and asked him to pick one scoop of his favourite flavour. But while he had gone for tasting, she had repeatedly nudged him towards Sitafal. Of course, he had ordered Sitafal then. She had ordered a Malai-Dark-Choco-Chips cup. He didn’t know what that was because she had gotten their orders packed.
“After your dinner.”
And that’s how he found himself in his house, chopping onions, ginger and garlic while she sat on the platform.
“Stay away now,” he warned, heating up the oil.
“I have never heard about old rotli made into a one-pot meal.”
“You will eat it now.” He threw the ginger-garlic mince into the oil and inhaled the fumes. His mother used to add freshly pounded green chillies too. But he had cut down on the spice lately.
“How will it become one pot? Roti and vegetables sautéed together?”
“Quiet, Doctor.”
She harrumphed, her eyes on his as he reached for the stack of bajra rotis from one day ago. His mother always said that old rotis were great for the body. Now, with his recent scare, he was reading up a whole thesis on how overnight carbs like rice and roti could cut down sugar spikes in the blood by more than half.
“Did you cook every day with your mother?”
“I didn’t cook, mostly just hovered around,” Nilay recollected, tearing the crumbling bajra rotis into fine pieces. He rubbed them between his palms to make fine dust. “I would chop vegetables for her, stir when she was busy doing something, discuss recipes with her…” he smiled.
“What was she like?”
“She was amazing. Very soft-natured, but when she got angry, oh man, she got angry. Daddy didn’t stand a chance against her.”
When the fumes died down in the pot, he reached for the bowl of curd and threw it in.
“Whaaa?!” Ritu startled back. “Curd? Are you making kadhi?”
