Today is our 20th wedding anniversary. We planned to have our customary dinner date. Considering our work schedule, the dinners are rare occasion. I being a marketing man and she working as consultant,  airports, cabs & hotels started giving us homely feeling. But due to Corona fear, the business has slowed down. With time available in excess now, I decided to prepare dinner at home itself. It has been long since I have picked up ladle and knife in kitchen. I had to depend my maid to locate things. But my hands still knew how to make the signature dishes Malai Kofta, Pyaz Pulav, Bharva Bhindi, Lachchha Paratha and Sevaiyon ki kheer. The aroma of spices made me nostalgic. It took me to early years of marriage when I wooed her by cooking skills. How she used to sit on kitchen shelf, irritating me by hiding things or finding faults in my methods. Once she handed me amchoor powder instead of garam masala and whole gravy was ruined. We had to eat maggi. But with love in the air, that too felt like having a Valentine’s dinner.

It’s ancient history now. After we lost our child due to one of these mysterious fevers, we became mute and kind of blamed ourselves. We reminded each other of the tragedy so immersed ourselves in work and started travelling extensively to avoid home. We looked for peace outside or became accustomed to agitation inside us, it’s incomprehensible. 

She returned from office with plan to dine out  as usual. As she entered home, she was surprised to smell the aroma and shockingly asked me “What are you doing, Uday ?

I welcomed her with Thandai and told her “Hi Roshni, the meeting got cancelled so I came early and thought of cooking at home for change”

She replied “We could have gone to a restro. Why did you take all the trouble ?”

Things had become so dead that any uprising of emotions was resisted. We feared that even an iota love will bring back the dark memories.

I replied her “I have prepared restro like food. You freshen up. I will prepare the parathas”

She said “Wait, don’t make all of them at once. You cook them too much and it becomes like papad.”

And the nagging was back. But the old times too. She was happy to see the spread on table but resisted the expression. We were cooking together. That was some global warming to our arctic iceberg. I wished her Happy Anniversary with spoon full of sevaiyan. Tears welled up in her eyes. It was time of emotional.turmoil. I too became sentimental and we consoled each other. We had never cried together. I believe sometimes tears are necessary to wash off the past. It’s an irony how a deadly virus revived love which was killed by another of its kind.