IshRa FF Strangers Chapter 22-27 Page 94-95 *Completed* (3/3/15) - Page 14

Chapter 7

Raman looked at the food in front of him in disdain. "Do you not know to make anything else?" he asked Ishita annoyed. "What is wrong with what I've made?" she retorted. "Everything! We've been here for a week now and all you've made is this rasam!" Raman said lifting a spoonful of the rasam and pouring it back into the serving bowl. "And what exactly is wrong with the rasam? It's the perfect dish for this kind of weather. At home, whenever its cold, all of us drink rasam. Just like you Punjabis drink lassi!" Ishita replied. "Thank you for remembering the fact that I am a Punjabi. If only you'd also remember how amazing Punjabi cuisine is. We don't have just rasam all day, every day. My whole digestive system has gone for a toss after drinking this rasam of yours," he retorted rubbing his poor grumbling belly. "Your digestive system hasn't gone for a toss. Its probably getting cleansed of the meat and alcohol and junk that you eat," Ishita replied.

"Oh please! It's the freaking rasam powder! I am sure of it. There was only one store in all of Ranikhet that even had that stupid powder. It must've been lying in that shop since forever. Did you check the expiry date on that thing? It must have been left behind by the last Madrasi to ever live in Ranikhet, which would have been forever ago!" he cribbed. "You know what? You should be thanking me that I have been considerate enough to cook for both of us and not just mind my own business. And if I am doing the cooking, I get to decide what will be made. If you want your sumptuous Punjabi spread, cook it for yourself," Ishita told him angrily. "Stop trying to cover the fact that you do not know how to cook anything other than rasam," Raman retorted. "I don't understand how that should be any of your concern," she replied coolly and she sat down to eat. Raman looked at the food in front of him and then at Ishita. "Fine! You know what? I am going to go over to the Singhs. Anything that Mrs. Singh has made will be a lot better than this," he said as he got up and left. Just at the door, he turned and said, "By the way, if ever you do find a guy with such horrible misfortune that he is willing to marry you, please do let me know. I would like to warn him of how he is going to end up with a defective piece."

Ishita had just begun eating. She stilled in the process of eating and looked at Raman. He had only meant to have the last word in the argument, referring to her abject lack of culinary skills, obstinacy and tendency to argue like hell. But something in the way her expression changed to one of absolute hurt told him that he may have hit a raw nerve. Oh God! Before she switched on her Drama Queen mode, he decided to make a quick escape and shut the door to walk over to the Singhs. As soon as he left the house, all he could hope was for Mrs. Singh to have made some nice butter chicken for dinner tonight. Ishita, on the other hand, couldn't get herself to eat anymore. She cleared the dishes away, cleaned the kitchen, changed into her night clothes and went to lie on the couch.

***

"Thank you Mrs. Singh. Thank you so much. You have no idea how relieved I feel now after having a good, Punjabi meal after a whole week! Ishita has been feeding me so much rasam, I swear, with all the gun powder that goes into it, someday, I wouldn't be surprised if a missile came out of me," Raman said as he helped himself to a second serving of chicken curry. "Awww.. Poor girl! She is a Madrasi and a Brahmin on top of that. How would she know any Punjabi cooking? You need to give her time. I am sure she'll learn," Mrs. Singh said as she placed more rotis onto Raman's plate. "You know, when we first got married. I didn't know any cooking at all. My parents always insisted that I spend my time studying instead of learning to cook. Little did they know that I used to hide Mr. Singh's love letters in my textbooks and notebooks and keep reading them. Every day he'd write me a love letter and give it to me while I walked past the huge banyan tree in our village on my way to college," Mrs. Singh giggled. Raman tried to visualize a younger Mrs. and Mr. Singh exchanging love letters beneath a banyan tree - the visual was so hilarious, he wanted to laugh. Love was such a foolish notion, Raman thought but did not say it out aloud.

"When we ran away and got married, I had no one to teach me to cook. We stayed in a chawl and the lady next door was this old, Marathi lady. The first day I tried to make rotis, oh God! It was a disaster! I added too much water into the atta and somehow spread the atta paste on the tava and I was waiting for it to rise like it always did with Maa's rotis only to have it burn and the whole house fill with smoke. That's when Aai next door came to help me. She taught me cooking. At first, everything I made tasted horrible, but Singhji would lovingly eat it all and tell me that if I fed him with my hands, everything tasted perfect. He was the one who encouraged me to keep trying and built my confidence," Mrs. Singh said looking at Mr. Singh lovingly while Raman watched them. They'd been married for more than 30 years and yet, the love and care they had for each other was plain for anyone to see. "So, I was saying, you need to give Ishita time. Poor girl! She left everything for you. Her whole life. I bet she was the apple of her parents' eyes and just like me, they probably didn't let her step into the kitchen either. I mean, you can't become a dentist just like that now, can you? She probably spent all her time actually studying. And now, it's a new place. Being in love is one thing, but living together is a whole different thing altogether. You need to be there for her. Who else will she trust if not you? Who else will support her if not you?" Mrs. Singh asked.

***

Raman walked into the dark house. Pale, silvery moonlight filtered in through the curtains covering the window and he saw Ishita's figure huddled up on the couch. "Who else will she trust if not you? Who else will support her if not you?" Mrs. Singh's words echoed in his mind. He had been exceptionally rude to her earlier. He wanted to blame it on the utter boredom he felt here. The only saving grace was the verbal duels he had with her, the only lively moments of his day. He wanted to blame it on the lack of proper food. Yet, he was grateful for the fact that she was considerate enough to make food for him too when she really didn't have to. A gentle breeze drifted in and a few strands of her hair fell onto Ishita's face. Raman made his way towards her, careful not to make any noise and crouched down next to her. In the silvery moonlight, with her features relaxed in sleep, she looked so innocent.. and beautiful, Raman admitted to himself. He gently tucked away the strands of hair from her face. "I am sorry Ishita," he whispered ever so softly.

***

"Where are you off to early in the morning?" Raman asked, waking up to the noise of something ruffling in the hallway. Ishita was dressed and ready and putting stuff into her shoulder bag. She seemed to not have heard him. "Oh hello! I am talking to you. Where are you off to?" he asked again, approaching her but she remained quiet. When she picked up her bag and started to head out the door, he caught hold of her hand. "Have you gone deaf or what? I am talking to you. Where are you off to early in the morning?" Raman asked again, getting angrier by the minute. Ishita looked at him then and that's when Raman noticed the puffiness and tinge of redness in her eyes, like she had been crying. "I don't think I need to remind you that we are only acting as husband and wife. You have no right to ask me where I am going. Since we are in a Witness Protection Program together though, I will assure you that I am not putting our, or more important to you, your security at risk. I am going to the library and the constable, Rajiv Singhal, is coming with me," she replied curtly as she freed her hand from his hold and turned to leave. "Listen, if this is about last night.." Raman started to apologize but Ishita cut him, "There is no need for you to say anything at all. You know nothing about me and I know nothing about you. We are, after all, strangers to each other. So what either of us says or does should make no difference to the other." Raman went quiet. She was right. They were strangers. The only thing that mattered, that should matter between them, was getting out of here alive. Then why did he feel so guilty? Why did he feel like he owed her an apology? "Wait. I'll come with you. Let me freshen up," he blurted out. She stood looking at him questioningly and he ran into the room to freshen up. When he came back out, she was gone.

He had half a mind to go after her but decided against it. The constable was with her. And what she said was right, they were strangers and he did not have to be so concerned about a stranger. So he made up his mind not to follow her and headed to the kitchen for his coffee.

Except there was no coffee.

Or sandwich.

Or lunch.

The Madrasan was on Jhansi ki Rani mode.