Brown

One should never believe what a man says before the wedding, Sunitha thinks. Before the wedding, men say they know cooking, they know to do the laundry and they even do a show of it for the first one month. In the very next month, you’ll be hearing ‘It’s 8 PM, why is the dinner not ready?’ or ‘Why is my white shirt not washed?’

“Sunitha, where is my tea?” Sunitha’s husband calls out from the bedroom.

Or this! Sunitha mutters in anger.

“Sunitha, tea for me!” My husband’s voice calls out from the next room.

I don’t reply. I don’t budge. I continue stirring the boiling sambhar. Next to me, the cooker shoots out a whistle.

A hand taps on my shoulder from behind.

“Yes, ma,” I say, seeing my mother-in-law. I put down the ladle and turn towards her reverentially, giving her my full attention.

“Vikram is asking for tea, Sunitha.”

“Oh. Okay ma, I didn’t hear. Because of the cooker’s whistle,” I lie. “I’ll make him some.” I hurriedly take out an empty container from the shelf above. I dash to the fridge and pull out a milk packet.

Seeing me get to work, my mother-in-law leaves the kitchen to join the ladies’ discussion in the guest room.

My home is overcrowded with relatives. His relatives. When they arrived two days back, it did seem like our relatives, but now, they are his.

Throughout the two days, I’ve been only hearing orders. “Sunitha, bring a towel for Jaya di.” “Sunitha, turn on the geyser.” “Sunitha, give out the extra blankets.” “Sunitha, make boiled eggs for Gaurav bhaiyya, make Jain food for Shantha Uncle, make mutton biryani for Rakesh, and veg biryani for Aahana-”

“Sunitha, make me ginger tea,” Vikram’s voice shoots out another order. ‘And now this!’ I think and fume.

The cooker shoots out another whistle. Even the cooker gets a chance to let out its steam.

Before my mother-in-law repeats the order to me, I shout over the sound of the whistle, “OKAY!”

I rip out the packet of milk with my teeth. I didn’t know where the scissors are; and even if I did, I needed to let out some anger and the poor milk packet was the victim in the vicinity. I pour the entire milk into the container. I take the cooker off the stove and replace the container over it.

One should never believe what a man says before the wedding. Before the wedding, men say they know cooking, they know to do the laundry and they even do a show of it for the first one month. In the very next month, you’ll be hearing ‘It’s 8 PM, why is the dinner not ready?’ or ‘Why is my white shirt not washed?’

In fact, during the courtship period, Vikram always made me tea. His signature ginger tea. Every single time I visited his place. I used to love it so much and begged him to teach me. Maybe I shouldn’t have learnt it after all. At least then, he would still be handing me a cup of hot ginger tea. Now, I have to make it myself. Maybe, I’ll make another cup as well, for me.

Someone tugs on the ends of my kurti.

“Yes Munni?” I ask my sister-in-law’s little daughter, bending down to her height.

“Aunty, can I have some chocolate milk?”

“Of course, Munni,” I gently tuck her hair behind the ears.

I take out a small glass to pour the warm milk in it. But Munni brings a tall glass. “In this, aunty!”

I smile and take the glass from her hands.

I pour out the milk from the container on the stove. I feel the sides of the glass. Okay, it’s comfortably warm and not undrinkable hot. I squeeze out the Hershey’s chocolate syrup into it.

“More!” Munni demands.

I smile and pour another generous amount of syrup. I see her smile broaden. I stir it and hand the glass to her. She takes them in both hands and leaves the kitchen, taking good care that not a single drop spills.

I get back to the boiling milk. I realise there’s not enough milk for making two cups. I open the fridge to find another milk packet. There was none.

Oh no! I need tea!

I think of drinking this cup. I deserve this cup of hot tea, anyway. I woke up at five in the morning and began working on the breakfast. When did Vikram get up? 7:30! I made 60 puris for breakfast. What did he do? He ate 7 puris for breakfast. After breakfast, I cleared the table and did the dishes. What did he do? He watched me do. I totally deserve this cup, I declare.

I add the crushed ginger and tea powder and wait for the boiling tea to rise up. After drinking this cup, I’ll go the store, get more milk and then make tea for Vikram, I decide.

Mother-in-law is back again. “Sunitha, isn’t the tea for Vikram ready yet?”

“Oh almost,” I tell her. Okay, looks like this is going to be Vikram’s after all.

I’m going tea-less. Going tea-less seemed like an easier option. Difficult mentally, but easier physically.

The enticing smell of the rich, brown tea wafted in the air. I don’t get to taste it, so let me revel in its smell and look at least. I pour the filtered tea into a cup, add sugar and take it to our bedroom.

Vikram has turned on the Air-Conditioning. The room is cool and refreshing, unlike the boiling hot kitchen. The moment I enter, his eyebrows sprang up, like he was expecting me eagerly. Oh wait, expecting for his tea eagerly.

He is lounging on the cushioned chair with the laptop on his lap. I put down the cup on the table in front of him, with a clang. The tea inside spills a little, but I didn’t care.

Without meeting his eyes, I turn to leave. He holds me by my wrist. Hey!

“Where are you going?” He asks. “Sit down.”

I just look at him, my eyes glaring. He gets up from his chair, holds me by my shoulder and makes me sit on the bed. He fluffs the pillow, places it against the backrest and makes me lean my back on it.

No, I don’t want to – I begin to protest. But the moment my back hits the pillow, I softly go, “Oooh…” I sense my body relax. This is so comfortable. This is heaven. ‘By the way, what happened to Vikram?’ I wonder.

He holds out the cup to me.

Huh? I look at him even more surprised. What seriously happened to my husband?!

“You’ve been working so hard since 2 days. Rest for sometime. Take a nap, if you like.” A nap? And lunch is going to magically serve itself? I almost scoff. “We’ll take them out for lunch,” he answers the question in my head.

“Take it,” he presses, holding out the cup. I take the tea from his hand, in a daze. I normally never run out of words to say, but today at this moment, I’m at a loss for words. Instead, a tiny smile erupts on my face, that speaks the million thoughts, the million thanks, the million I-love-you’s I want to tell him.

He mirrors back the smile and goes back to work on his laptop.

I sit there, watching him and sipping my tea – savouring its taste, savouring my marriage.

Why the title ‘brown’?

Brown is the colour of earth, of foundation, of home, or the warm, comforting cup of tea.