Treasure pressure

He was watching every move of hers. She kept talking as she moved around the kitchen, opening jars and closing them. He had managed to keep every pot, pan and jar at just the wrong place. Unwashed vessels lay in a heap in the sink. On the granite slab, there was clear evidence of a sticky something having been spilt and wiped off clumsily. The kitchen was a mess. “How does he manage this?” she couldn’t help wondering.



Theirs was a typical middle class house of the 1970s, with a not too sophisticated kitchen and a neat little vegetable garden behind the kitchen. Sun rays streamed through the window and there was a gentle breeze blowing.



Mrs. Rati Kapoor was back after a short stay at her sister’s place. She had planned to return on Monday but was back a day earlier because there were no tickets available for the Sunday evening's train. She was now in the process of taking the kitchen from the chaotic state that it was in to a state of normalcy and simultaneously making a pepper rasam. She kept glancing accusingly at her husband who stood at the door way leading to the vegetable garden. He had offered to plant the saplings that she had brought from her sister’s garden.

“ Is it too difficult for you to place a jar back in the place that you take it from?. What’s the difficulty in doing that, may I know please?”. She paused to look around and continued “How can any body cook in the middle of all this mess???”

The 70 year old man stood there with eyes slightly lowered and firmly set on some object at the other end of the wall.

“You’ve managed to set a record my dear. You’ve successfully messed the kitchen up every time I’m away, since the time we got married”

He still said nothing. This was so unlike him. For one thing, he wouldn’t keep standing here like this. He would be too busy with his eyes and mind glued to the newspaper or the television, to bother about what she had to say. Even if he did listen to her, he would just say “I haven’t committed some crime for God’s sake. So stop cribbing and let me live in peace will you?”

Rati was amazed. He hasn’t said a word.



She had more or less set things right. The peppery fragrance of the rasam filled the air. She was about to move out of the kitchen when she suddenly noticed that one of the jars had no lid on. She couldn’t find it anywhere around. She bend down to see if it was somewhere underneath. He started wiggling his muddy hands uneasily. Before she could take a proper look, there was a sharp pain in her ailing back and she straightened herself quickly.

“I wouldn’t be complaining if I had the stamina to clean things up.” she said with a deep sigh.

“ I wish you would understand. I’m old and tired too”



He still stood there with his eyes lowered. The silence seemed to last for ever. Mrs. Rati stood with one hand on her aching back. He felt sorry for her. Suddenly, the telephone started ringing. Sunil Kapoor stood there with his hands still muddy and with no intention of moving. Rati nodded her head in disapproval and slowly walked out of the kitchen.

Sunil could hear her excited voice responding to her friend and neighbor Mrs. Sharma. He heaved a sigh of relief. This conversation can never last for anything lesser than half an hour, at the 'least'. He smiled to himself. He slowly washed the mud off his hands.

He had got back after his morning walk and was shocked to see Rathi waiting outside when he got back. He was sufficiently health conscious, but she was immensely so- especially if it is his health, at stake. She had been pleased to see him up and about so early. “Oh my gosh! What will I do now?” he had thought.



He wiped his hands in the blue towel hanging near the sink and walked towards the row of jars on the other end of the kitchen. His eyes lowered (again) looking at something in the bottommost shelf. Once there, he slowly bend down and picked up a plate. The missing lid had been placed on top of the plate, concealing something. He lifted the plate with care, and sat comfortably on the little stool. He removed the lid and looked fondly at the ladoo which started rolling on the plate.

He had successfully saved his little treasure. He has had to give up eating sweets since the time he was diagnosed with diabetes a few years back and Rati was too particular about it. With medication, having a piece of sweet once a week was ok- the doctor had told so. He had bought this ladoo last evening with hopes of having it this morning and as luck might have it Rati had got back just on time to make this difficult.



He could hear her laughing. She was still on the phone. He smiled as he picked up the ladoo and slowly sunk his teeth in.