hands.
Kishan laughed, ‘I am not a Bengali.’
‘Oh, that’s true.’ Nila brushed the stray hairs away from her eyes and laughed.
Nila cooked all evening. She laid the table and called Kishan. As he ate, Kishan said, ‘What did those boys at the restaurant want with you?’
Nila smiled, ‘Just a fellow Bengali to talk to.’
‘What was all that chatter with Mojammel?’
She put some malai kofta on to his plate and said, ‘How he came to this country, what he does, etc.’
‘What else?’
‘Just that, and he said he can’t get a good job without papers.’
‘And?’
‘And that he lives in Belle Ville.’
‘And?’
‘And that they stay seven together in one room.’
‘And?’
‘And that the people at home think he is a DC.’
‘And?’
‘And that he wouldn’t get a job if he went back home, he’s too old for that.’
‘And?’
‘And that Bachhu is a doctor.’
‘And?’
‘And he asked if I’d like more sugar in the tea. I said no. If I’d wanted it he’d have got me some. He also said that if you put salt in the tea instead of sugar, it tasted different. I said, yes it does. He asked if I’d like a pinch of salt. I said, no I don’t like anything bitter. He asked if I wanted a slice of lemon. I said no, I didn’t have my tea sour. I also said that too much lime in the tea could make it bitter.’
Kishan asked, ‘Tell me, can you make daal makhani?’
‘No.’ Nila answered.
‘But you know something, today’s dinner is a definite improvement on the other day. The book will come in handy for you.’
Nila got up without finishing her dinner, ‘You don’t have meat at all. Will you never even try it?’
‘You know very well that I don’t have it and I’ll never ever try it.’
‘I am used to eating fish and meat. I cannot have vegetarian food always.’
‘But you agreed to this match knowing full well that I am a vegetarian, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did. But I never said I will also give up eating meat.’
‘Did you think you’ll cook two kinds of food in the same house?’
‘I didn’t get the time to think so much.’
Nila picked up the dirty dishes and took them into the kitchen. Kishan burped loudly, stroked his immense tummy and said, ‘If I get such great food everyday, my pot belly is here to stay.’
Nila raised her voice over the sound of running water in the kitchen and said, ‘You do eat eggs; that’s not vegetarian. So why won’t you have fish and meat? Is it just habit or do you believe it is wrong to kill?’
Kishan didn’t reply.
Nila said, ‘Fine, I’ll go to your restaurant sometimes and eat. Mojammel also suggested that.’
Kishan didn’t reply to that as well.
At night, when Kishan began to take off her sari like every other night, Nila said irritably, ‘I’m sleepy.’
‘Go ahead and sleep. Let me do my work. You won’t know a thing.’
Nila knew that this was Kishan’s work and she had no role to play in it.
When Kishan was kneading her breasts in his palm she turned over and said, ‘Please let me sleep.’
Kishan had no objection to Nila sleeping. But she shouldn’t move her hands, legs, mouth and head so that he could get his work done easily. Nila wondered if Kishan really even needed a live female body to satisfy his hunger. She lay there still and motionless as Kishan’s heavy body did its own work upon hers. He had been right about one thing: she didn’t feel a thing.
Nila knew what would happen next. Kishan would get off her body and fall asleep, snoring. She would lie awake for many hours. In the morning Kishan would shake her awake, ‘Wake up, wake up, it’s getting late.’ She wouldn’t feel like getting up but she would. She’d make his breakfast, set the table and pour orange juice into his glass. She’d make tea for herself. When she drank the tea, Kishan would say tea makes your skin darker.
Nila would ask, ‘When will you come back?’
‘I don’t know.’
Then Nila would stand by
Kishan laughed, ‘I am not a Bengali.’
‘Oh, that’s true.’ Nila brushed the stray hairs away from her eyes and laughed.
Nila cooked all evening. She laid the table and called Kishan. As he ate, Kishan said, ‘What did those boys at the restaurant want with you?’
Nila smiled, ‘Just a fellow Bengali to talk to.’
‘What was all that chatter with Mojammel?’
She put some malai kofta on to his plate and said, ‘How he came to this country, what he does, etc.’
‘What else?’
‘Just that, and he said he can’t get a good job without papers.’
‘And?’
‘And that he lives in Belle Ville.’
‘And?’
‘And that they stay seven together in one room.’
‘And?’
‘And that the people at home think he is a DC.’
‘And?’
‘And that he wouldn’t get a job if he went back home, he’s too old for that.’
‘And?’
‘And that Bachhu is a doctor.’
‘And?’
‘And he asked if I’d like more sugar in the tea. I said no. If I’d wanted it he’d have got me some. He also said that if you put salt in the tea instead of sugar, it tasted different. I said, yes it does. He asked if I’d like a pinch of salt. I said, no I don’t like anything bitter. He asked if I wanted a slice of lemon. I said no, I didn’t have my tea sour. I also said that too much lime in the tea could make it bitter.’
Kishan asked, ‘Tell me, can you make daal makhani?’
‘No.’ Nila answered.
‘But you know something, today’s dinner is a definite improvement on the other day. The book will come in handy for you.’
Nila got up without finishing her dinner, ‘You don’t have meat at all. Will you never even try it?’
‘You know very well that I don’t have it and I’ll never ever try it.’
‘I am used to eating fish and meat. I cannot have vegetarian food always.’
‘But you agreed to this match knowing full well that I am a vegetarian, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did. But I never said I will also give up eating meat.’
‘Did you think you’ll cook two kinds of food in the same house?’
‘I didn’t get the time to think so much.’
Nila picked up the dirty dishes and took them into the kitchen. Kishan burped loudly, stroked his immense tummy and said, ‘If I get such great food everyday, my pot belly is here to stay.’
Nila raised her voice over the sound of running water in the kitchen and said, ‘You do eat eggs; that’s not vegetarian. So why won’t you have fish and meat? Is it just habit or do you believe it is wrong to kill?’
Kishan didn’t reply.
Nila said, ‘Fine, I’ll go to your restaurant sometimes and eat. Mojammel also suggested that.’
Kishan didn’t reply to that as well.
At night, when Kishan began to take off her sari like every other night, Nila said irritably, ‘I’m sleepy.’
‘Go ahead and sleep. Let me do my work. You won’t know a thing.’
Nila knew that this was Kishan’s work and she had no role to play in it.
When Kishan was kneading her breasts in his palm she turned over and said, ‘Please let me sleep.’
Kishan had no objection to Nila sleeping. But she shouldn’t move her hands, legs, mouth and head so that he could get his work done easily. Nila wondered if Kishan really even needed a live female body to satisfy his hunger. She lay there still and motionless as Kishan’s heavy body did its own work upon hers. He had been right about one thing: she didn’t feel a thing.
Nila knew what would happen next. Kishan would get off her body and fall asleep, snoring. She would lie awake for many hours. In the morning Kishan would shake her awake, ‘Wake up, wake up, it’s getting late.’ She wouldn’t feel like getting up but she would. She’d make his breakfast, set the table and pour orange juice into his glass. She’d make tea for herself. When she drank the tea, Kishan would say tea makes your skin darker.
Nila would ask, ‘When will you come back?’
‘I don’t know.’
Then Nila would stand by
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