My Maybelline Aunty

Restlessly I was trying to get hold of a bus which can take me to Jawalakhel. Crushed between two college girls with makeup weighing more than their own weight, I finally made it to the very trendy coffee shop. The first thing I checked out was if it was a gizmo friendly environment, I mean free wifi. And far in the corner I see her, sitting with her ever eccentric dress up: Flared brown pants, white linen shirt, fuchsia cashmere sweater and her loud jewellery. I still wonder why a woman wants to keep her hair white when it is not very difficult to maintain it to natural black.

I approached her with a smile and she extended herself with open arms. “Hello there Maiya! Its been a while I have seen you around”. I still feel safe in her embrace. I can smell her perfume, it is her all time favorite, Anais Anais. “How are you, Kanchi Fufu? yes it’s been a while. Mum sends you the things you have asked for.” I hand her the packet.

“Thank you, Maiya”. She ordered for me without asking, Hot Chocolate and Ginger Cookies. “Fufu I don’t drink Hot Chocolate anymore. Can I please get Americano, bhai”. With a disappointed nod she comments “ You cant stick to one thing, can you? I tell you…girls these days tck!”. She continues the conversation we were having. All the while she was playing with her diamond ring on her ring finger. There is a white mark on her skin under the ring coz she hadn’t taken it off for years now. This ring also got a story of its own.

She was in her late 20s. She was working for a magazine as a Copy Editor and was dating a guy who was working as a Freelance Writer. When I was growing up I saw these two people as a couple who are more like friends and less as lovers. In a friends party, Mr. Writer got buzzed with alcohol and in some high mood, took iron ring off the beer can and put it in Kanchi Fufu’s finger and said “ dear I promise I ll replace it with a diamond ring someday….yes someday”. And she was crazy enough to wear it for 2 whole years until he felt embarrassed of it and finally gave her a diamond ring.

And here I am sitting in front of her, conversing and she playing with her 30 year old ring.“The other day, early morning he wakes me up and when I open my eyes he takes a picture of me. Looks at the picture and says ‘ hey I think I just saw a new wrinkle on your left cheek’.. when he sees that I am about to lose my temper, he gets me something I wanted for a long time, the latest book by Shama Shahi. That is how I have lived with him. Time flies right in front of your eyes. Our kids all grown up and started their own nests and we still are where we used to be….madly in love!!!’. I can still see the blush on her face, just like a young girl being in love for the first time.

She looked at her watch, it was 12:21pm and she mumbles “ always late”. her eyes fixed at the door of the coffee shop. She looks at me and I smile back. She fixes her hair which is almost white with age. She asks me if I have a mirror and I take it out from my purse and give it to her. She takes out a cherry red Maybelline lipstick and puts in on her lips with her trembling hands, dabs her lips with a tissue. “I hope I look fine.” I replied with a big and mischievous smile “ yes, as always”.

At that moment the door of the coffee shop opens and the tinkling of the chimes echoes. An old man walks in with a recycled paper bag. He was wearing a finely tailored tweed coat and woolen pants. The black leather shoes were spotlessly polished and his hair nicely combed to the right side. Walking close to us he says “ Hello Maiya! God bless its been years I have seen you, the last I saw you, you were still at the age of single number. All grown into a beautiful lady but sorry no one beats my Smooch out here”. He walks closely to Kanchi Fufu and hugs her gently and kisses her. “So, ready to go for the movie, dear?” he questions. “oh yes! All set, I was here to get the stuff from Maiya.” She gets up and turns to me, smilingly says “take care of yourself, our blessing are always with you. Remember one thing, do what you think is right and rest will follow. Life doesn’t come with a guarantee card but is a result of what you do, you are strong woman and you’ll be fine, I know”.

Saying that she puts her hands around his, ”So my Darling, have you booked the tickets?…..” the voices fades as they walk together.  

(This story was supposed to be posted during Valentines Day fever but I thought love and relationships are timeless so posting it now. Hope to know your opinion)

Food & Me

I am an average height fat woman. Yes, I repeat I am a fat woman and I love food. I love food and yes good food. “Good” doesn’t really have to mean, the latest in town like an international food chain where you line up for hours to get a piece of chicken wings paying hundreds of rupees or some expensive exotic restaurant which opens up in the most pose areas. We celebrate every occasion with food. Whether it is birth, death, wedding, promotion, travel, success or failure. No occasion is complete without good food.

I started cooking at the age of eight. The first thing I ever cooked was parathas and omelets. It was winters in some small town in India where I was visiting my aunty. She is my first cooking teacher. Every morning I packed food for my uncle, which was off course paratha and omelet. He never complained in fact he always bestowed me with comments like “next time put a little less salt in the eggs” or “you want to try cooking egg in some other style” or “you mind taking the egg cells out properly tomorrow, it just ruins the lovely taste you give to the omelets”. It was a starter for me into the elephantine world of food. I burnt a lot of cakes, over cooked chickens, hopeless desserts and so on and so forth. But it was all a learning process for me. Food actually got into my mind. I never looked into it as a profession or career but it was something I always loved doing.

One important thing I learn in the progression and also told by one of my late grand aunt (may her soul rest in peace) is that your emotions are the most important ingredient in cooking. And with my experience I agree with it completely. My mum always told me that the best food I ever cook is the food I cook for my brother and my friends. And I know the reason as well. It is the love and affection I have for these people that I blend into my cooking. Simple fried rice will taste awesome or a quick chicken chilly will taste totally Chinese coz of the effort you put into its making. Not only love, a lot of times it is your anger, your frustrations and complains you add on to your food.

Recently one Saturday, like a typical Nepali, I was trying to cook some meat and I happen to ran into an argument with my brother. I was really angry but I had no choice and I had to continue my cooking. Like always I did what I had to. All the ingredients were same and the cooking time was accurate. But to my surprise the food was burnt and the smell was awful. What was the extra thing I put in there. I pondered and I knew the answer. It was no love this time. It was my displeasure I put in the food. I felt guilty.

For me cooking is an art which can only be completed with the last ingredient, Love. Without which it will always be the substance for survival only. Now I make it a point to add a little of love and a little of affection every time I cook. Next time you cook an omelet, try cooking it in butter and yes the most important ingredient Love.

(Published in NewsFront Weekly in 2011)