A Nostalgic Monday Dinner
A walk through the memory lane
It was a late July evening, and it was pouring outside. It had been for a couple of hours and with such force that I was half-worried that she would call me up to cancel our dinner.
You see, my Ma was supposed to have dinner with me tonight after almost six months of not having seen each other. Ever since I moved out, I had been seeing less and less of her over the months.
Not by purpose though. So last Sunday, on the phone, we decided to have dinner at my place today come rain or shine. And I had already taken it up at work that I had personal obligations and that I couldn’t work overtime today in case the necessity arose.
The preparations of the meal were almost through, with the bread rolls out on the table and the curry simmering on the stove. The aroma of spices hung in the air.
Although I was a novice to the world of cooking, going by the aroma, I was feeling pretty positive about the dish. I had gone by Ma’s recipe line by line, measuring out every single ingredient to the very dot.
As the clock strikes seven, I open the fridge and take out the pitcher of cold lassi. On the surface of the milky concoction floats a couple of basil leaves to impart a refreshing flavor to the drink.
I set out the glasses for the lassi on the kitchen counter. For dessert, I had planned out small bowls of gulab jamun and vanilla ice cream. A tried-and-true combination.
The belle of the ball was supposed to be the Pav Bhaji. It’s a common Indian street food originally sold in Mumbai, where our family used to live for a good part of my childhood.
During those times, almost every Friday evening my Ma and I would set out on foot to the nearest bazaar where we would walk the streets, breathing in the aroma from the street food carts, pausing at select stalls to sample some of the Dahi Papdi Chaat or Pav Bhaji.
From then and there originated my love affair with Pav Bhaji. Sure, a good deal of the street foods I’d sampled during my time spent in the Mumbai bazaars were delicious and flavorful, but there was something so equally delightful and so equally comforting about breaking the bread roll into pieces, scooping up the butter-laced Bhaji into the mouth, waiting for the firework magic.
Then, all at once, the added spices burst forth in a dance in your mouth, little pockets of flavor hitting all the notes of your palette like a skillfully executed sonata would to the ears.
As time passed by and we moved away from Mumbai, the Friday evening walks in the bazaar were replaced with other activities but a new tradition came into being in our family. Every Sunday night, Ma would prepare Pav Bhaji for dinner from a recipe her Ma had given her when we had moved away from Mumbai.
And then, Sundays became the day of the week that we would all look forward to. We didn’t mind that we had to go to school or to work the next day and get on with the rat race for the rest of the week. For that one day, it seemed as if time had slowed down for us, to appreciate that moment and to savor the meal that accompanied the day.
Eight months ago, I had gotten a job opportunity to work for a big company in another city nearby. It meant that I would have to get a place in a new city. It was everything I had hoped for in a career prospect.
The only thing that was holding my wall-flowered self back: staying away from my family. For someone who had stayed with their family through school and even college, I knew that the change was not going to be easy. Only I hadn’t anticipated it to be so real.
Although I had always fantasized about having my place and even dreamt vividly about how the furniture and the curtains would look like at my new place, it had always seemed like some far-off dream in the distant future. But now that change was just around the corner, I felt unprepared.
The first nights alone in my new apartment were well… quiet. Usually, at home, there would be the sound of the TV in the background and some sort of ambient noise going on. But here, it was all quiet.
Eventually, I got used to it. Ma had promised me that she’d come visit me often, but after the first two months, I usually had to work Saturdays so she felt like she couldn’t visit me on Sundays, the only day off I had for the week. So, weeks turned into months and suddenly it was a good six months since I’d seen her although we talk to each other every single day.
The electronic doorbell rings once and I start for the door. Ma stands before me as I open. She smiles her sweet smile and steps in.
“Here, I brought dessert. You still love Paal Kova, don’t you?”, she hands me the tin container that she was holding onto. “Wow, it smells really good in here.”
“Ma? Do you need to ask about the Paal Kova?”, I give her an almost smirk. “Yeah, I left the Bhaji to simmer on the stove.”
“Pav Bhaji for dinner?”
“Just like old times.”, we both say at the same time and burst into giggles.
“But Ma, you really needn’t have brought dessert though. I’d already gotten gulab jamun and ice cream.”
“Then let’s dig into both and call it a feast.”
“By the way, how’s everything at home? Pa fine? He could’ve come too, nah?”
“Well, you know your Pa. He’s glad to have something to busy himself with. This new business has kept him on his toes. I haven’t seen him this active in years. How about sometime next month Pa and I both come over. If you’re not too bogged down with work?”
“It’s a date, then.”
After more chit-chat, Ma and I sit across each other at the small dining table.
I watch as Ma takes her first bite of the Pav Bhaji. Will it be as good as the aroma implies or will it be bad that I’ve ruined Pav Bhaji for her?
“Aare beta, this is amazing. Did you get the recipe from the net?”. She takes another mouthful.
“It’s Grandma’s, actually.”, I say, beaming.
“Wow. It’s really good.” She takes a sip of her lassi.
The dinner progresses, interspaced with chatting about work, home, and some fond memories during our old Mumbai days.
After dinner, she helps me put away the dishes to be washed by the sink.
I grab four dessert bowls from the shelf and hover over the container of Paal Kova with a spoon.
Ma cracks open the container of gulab jamun while I scoop out spoonfuls of Paal Kova into two of the bowls.
Once the desserts were assembled, we take them out on a tray to the living room.
There we sat on the couch and chatted about literally everything under the sun and devoured the desserts bite by bite.
Outside the rain has turned into a drizzle, and Ma prepares herself to head back home before there could be a heavier downpour.
She gives me a parting hug at the door and says, “Come by sometime when you don’t have to work on Saturdays. It’ll be good to have you back around the house even if it’s just for the weekend. Theek hai, beta?”
“Sure”, I say, smiling from ear to ear.
And a moment later she was gone.
I take in the empty apartment. The reviving indent on the sofa where she sat. The empty dessert bowls.
Today has been just wonderful. The preparation of the meal, meeting Ma after a long time, the meal, and having dessert on the couch. I take the dessert bowls to the kitchen where I leave them in the sink. Only a couple of hours ago was I so engrossed in preparing a delightful meal for Ma. And the fact that she liked it meant the world to me.
I look around the kitchen in sweet contemplation. A couple of moments pass by before I switch off the light and head to prepare for bed.
Thank you for reading!
Thanks to Bella Smith ⭐ from Promptly Written for the Moody Monday writing prompt.
