Unlike Christmas, Pongal in Nerivoor was not hidden in the mist. Instead, it was happy to present itself to the world. Blooming like a flower.
As such, Aleena walked into her room, holding a wooden bowl filled to the brim with pavizhamalli. The flowers had bloomed overnight and, as they usually do, had fallen to the ground by dawn. This is exactly why she loved them so much. Aleena would never pluck a flower. She didn’t enjoy hurting them just for her pleasure. But the gracefulness of the pavizhamalli is that it does not allowed to be plucked. You cannot hurt it. It will take its leap to the soil below by itself. All in the secrecy of the night. Aleena didn’t adore the pavizhamalli. She respected it. The act of gathering them into the bowl was her way of turning that respect into action.
Knowing that they probably wanted to have their own space and not have to share it with her, Aleena set the pavizhamalli down in their usual spot. All the way on the other side of the bed. As far as it was humanly and florally possible to be away from her. She took one last quick sniff of the bowl and left them to their selves.
Happy with how the day had started, she walked over to her collection of alcohol. It only made sense as this was her getaway spot. A place away from the city. Away from the noise of everything that was considered normal.
But as she reached for her bottle of Jack Daniel's, she noticed that something was off. Instantly, she shouts, “Vishal! Did you drink my JD?!!”
You could hear the silence. It was quickly followed by the sound of footsteps running up the staircase.
“You know I don’t drink anymore. It was probably Nikhil. I gave him this room when he came down for Christmas.”
“Oh. He stayed in my room?”
“Technically, it isn’t your room. It’s the ‘guest’ room.”
Suddenly, the room looked different to her. It was no longer ‘her’ room. Yes, it had always been the guest room. But to be fair, Vishal didn’t have many guests. At least not the type of guest who would stay the night. There was only one who did, and that was her. It was always ‘her’ room. Now, it was ‘their’ room.
Unsure about how she felt, she walked over to the balcony to have a smoke. Just as she was about to sit down, she noticed the packet of cigarettes on the futon. A packet of Gold Flake King’s. She opens it up and sees that there is one cigarette left in it.
“Did he leave this for me?”
She looks at her pack of cigarettes. It’s a brand-new pack of Davidoff that hasn’t been opened yet.
“If you know that I smoke, I’m sure you’ve also figured out that I only smoke Davidoff. And still, you decided to leave this here for me?”
Aleena can’t help but feel amused by this.
“All this … because I told Vishal that you look cute? So? Just because you’re cute, you think you can drink my alcohol? Entitled much?”
Curious as to what else Nikhil had managed to do while he was here, she starts to look for him in the room. She tucks the cigarette behind her ear. Its fate is to be decided at a later time. And as such, slowly, she moves through the room. One by one, she went through everything that was her’s, only to realise that there wasn’t much that had been seen by Nikhil.
She looked at the books she had left behind and thought, “I see you found my books. At least someone finally went through them.”
Right next to the books were all the souvenirs from her time in Goa. They were laid out neatly, one by one, in a straight line. Some shells of varying sizes, a coin she found in the sand, a beer bottle cap, and a woven bracelet. She picked up the bracelet and felt the threads that made it. It was woven by these two French girls she had met in a shack. One of her favourite nights, with two people whom she never saw ever again. At this point, she can’t even remember their names. But she wasn’t the type to just forget someone. And after all, what’s in a name? Just sounds that let you know someone is calling you.
She looked at how the souvenirs were neatly arranged, like they were evidence from a crime scene, laid out for examination. Like suspects lined up for inspection. Something about the way they were seen annoyed her. She picked them up one by one, shaped them into a tiny ball of memories, and plopped them back on the shelf.
“You don’t know how to look, darling.”
And she was right. Nikhil had managed to spend all that time in this room and still knew nothing about her. All he had managed to find out was that she liked to drink expensive alcohol and that she once went to a beach. Brilliant. But his most ‘ingenious’ discovery? Uncovering the elusive brand of her cigarettes. Davidoff Gold. And from this breakthrough, he deduced, with great confidence, that she must be a rich, spoilt brat. And of course, he discovered that she read books too. Marvellous.
Aleena, unimpressed by Nikhil’s observational skills, walked back to the balcony and sat down in her futon. She picked up her little ashtray mug and noticed Nikhil’s bright orange cigarette sticking out in the middle of it all. She remembers that she’s got his cigarette tucked behind her ear and reaches for it. As she looks at it, she thinks to herself,
“So … how does this work? If I smoke this … does that mean I’ve accepted your ‘gift’? And what would that mean?”
She fiddles with the cigarette, twirling it between her fingers. She mimics Rajinikanth, attempting his iconic cigarette flip with a grin.
“Is this how you smoke your Kings?”
To her surprise, she manages to pull it off in her second attempt. Unable to let out a shout of glee, afraid she’d drop the cigarette and ruin the moment, she lets out a squeak and reaches for her lighter. Realising that she has left it on the bed, she goes back into the room to get it. It is at this moment that she notices the newspaper that Nikhil had left behind. She slowly takes the cigarette from her lips and holds it alongside the lighter in her hand. As she picks up the paper, she sees that he has solved her puzzle.
1 Across: Feeling about something (4)L O V E
She sits down on the futon with the newspaper in hand. There is no smile on her face. Nor are there any traces of anger. She isn’t really sad. She just didn’t feel anything. If you could see her face, you would get it. There was a familiar look in her eyes, one that was devoid of any emotion.
She looked at his cigarette that sat right next to her.
Softly, she said, “So that’s what you think?”
She thought to herself, as she stared out the balcony,
“You think this is love? You think whatever you feel for me is love? And what do you know about love? You’re just a romantic. I know you. You’re not special. I know so many of you. You’ll speak of love and how it’s the greatest thing in the world. You’ll act like nothing else matters. Everything is fair in love. There are no rules. To you, to love means to be overcome. You’ll call me a spoilt brat for smoking these cigarettes or drinking this alcohol. Because when you’re in love, you just don’t know how to act. You’ll say the dumbest things like it’s nothing. Because you always hurt the ones you love, right? And you’ll tell me, you love me even though I’m a spoilt brat. Oh yeah, you’re such a kind soul for loving me despite my flaws. And right after you’ve insulted me, you’ll tell me I’m beautiful. You’ll tell me that I’m the prettiest girl in the world. And you won’t even say it properly. You’ll say it with some cute gesture. But you know what? Every dumb boy who has ever been in love will look at the girl he’s in love with and think she’s the prettiest in the world. Because you live only in that moment, so nothing else matters.”
Aleena tries to smile, but her face just won’t move the way it needs to, to make her smile. To be fair, she never really knew how to fake a smile anyway. She leans back into the futon and wonders,
“Is that what you think this is? Is that what you wrote so boldly in those four letters? You think you’re in love with me?”
She picked up her pack of Davidoff Gold and tore off the plastic wrapper with precision. She had done it in a way where she could just tilt the top half back and slide the box out from the bottom sleeve. Holding the top side down, she knocked the box twice against her palm, firmly. Then she opened it, flipped one cigarette to face upwards, and pulled out the one to the right of it.
She lit that cigarette and took a long drag. A drag that was just long enough to rewind all of time.
With her cigarette in her right hand, she picked up Nikhil’s cigarette with her left. Her index finger pressed one end of the cigarette, her thumb the other. There was no intent to smoke it. She just wanted to take a good look at it, as she asked,
“Do you know what it means to love? You, who is trying to decode me, like I’m some puzzle you’re piecing together. Do you know what it means to love someone? Have you ever felt the silence of love? And no, not that romantic bullshit where two people sit in silence. That’s called being comfortable. You can do that even if you’re not in love. And honestly, I don’t think you’d be able to do that either. I feel like you wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to say something and turn it into a ‘moment’. But no, that’s not the silence I’m talking about. I’m talking about the silence of distance. The silence of time. The silence that comes when all of this is over. Have you ever felt that silence? Do you know how to love through that?”
She could see the cigarette was starting to give a little. She realised her grip was maybe a little too much for the cigarette to handle, but that didn’t stop her. If it broke, it broke. That’s all there was to it then. Without loosening her grip, she carried on,
“Would you know how to love when all of this is over and I am no longer the prettiest girl in the world? Would you know how to love through the pain of feeling abandoned? Would you still be able to love me even when I’m no longer there?”
She takes another drag of her cigarette. Once again, she takes her time with it. A part of her enjoys the slow burn, while the other wonders why she keeps at it. As she exhales the smoke, she takes a long look at her cigarette. The ash at the end of it has built up. If she leaves it as it is any longer, it’ll all come crumbling down and leave a stain on her beautiful white dress. And so, carefully, she moves her cigarette towards the ashen graveyard that is her coffee mug. A light tap is all that it takes. The ash crumbles away as it becomes a part of another pile that she has left behind. With that out of the way, she returns her attention to Nikhil’s cigarette, still in her hand. It still manages to stand, albeit with a slight hunch. Finally, with a smile, although not a happy one, she asks,
“Have you ever had to sit with your thoughts, knowing that the person you loved no longer feels the same way about you. You want to call them. But what do you tell them? That you miss them? It doesn’t work like that anymore. Remember? It’s over between the two of you. But despite that, the fact is you miss them. And you want to talk to them. You want to tell them about your day. You want to tell them every single thought you have had today, because you love talking to them. All of this is because you miss them so much it hurts. But it wouldn’t mean anything to them. So, everything just starts to feel miserable, and you pray for a moment to celebrate, hoping that they’ll care. Hoping that you can use that moment as an excuse to call them up and hear their voice. Only to be brought back to reality the moment they pick up, and their voice reminds you that the person on the other end doesn’t love you anymore. And now that little victory that you wanted to celebrate with them seems even less meaningful, and the conversation seems to last longer than it was supposed to be. Every second, a painful reminder of what you no longer have. Forcing you to wish, with every passing second, that the call would just end. And in that moment, when you finally say ‘bye’, will you still have it in you to tell them you’ll be there for them?”
Aleena takes another drag of her cigarette. This time, with less intensity. Shorter and more relaxed than before. She breathes out the smoke and asks, softly,
“When you’re done with the call … and you’re sitting by yourself … alone in your room … would you still be able to tell yourself that you genuinely love and care about the person you just spoke to? Or …”
Another drag. This time it’s much longer, and even more relaxed, as she leans back in her futon and watches the clouds pass by as she breathes out every last bit of the smoke. She is in no hurry to end her sentence. She knows very well what it is that she’s asking of him.
“Or … would you be too busy crying about how you’re no longer loved?”
She looks back at Nikhil’s cigarette.
“Would you be too busy crying about how you wasted all your time, loving this person. So much of that love that you will never get back. All of it, lost to time. Would you let that thought corrupt your mind until it reaches a point where you begin to hate that person? Hate the prettiest person in the world. Hate your most favourite person in the world. The one for whom you’d make up excuses, just to call them. Just to hear their voice. Hate them because they no longer love you or care about you the way they used to. Hate them because you’re better off without them. Because when they’re there, it’s a constant reminder of everything you have lost. All the love that you no longer have. And all that’s left is just pain. Pain that can only be eased by hating them. Not just for a day, but for months. Maybe even years. Hating them, until you forget that you ever loved them to begin with.”
Aleena takes one last drag and stubs her cigarette in the coffee mug-ashtray. Finally, putting it to rest. She sits up straight and looks at Nikhil’s cigarette with an intensity that was about to break the poor guy. She realises he’s been suffering for a while now, so she softens her grip, giving the cigarette a moment to breathe.
“So what I’m really asking is … would you be okay with hating that person just so you could feel better? Or would you be able to overcome all that, and love them like it’s day one? The answer to that is what will reveal the true meaning behind those four letters you wrote in my crossword puzzle.”
Angry that she wasted so much time because of a stupid boy, Aleena placed Nikhil’s cigarette down on the futon and quickly headed to the counter to make herself a drink. She pours a little bit of whatever vodka is left into a tall glass. It is only then that she notices the empty bottle of Coca-Cola that Nikhil had left behind when he had made himself a drink. And right beside the bottle was the glass he used to make the drink. It was her best whiskey glass, made from crystal. One of those glasses with multiple carved facets, that when held up to the sunlight, seemed to shine brighter than the sun itself. She picks it up and sniffs it.
“Jack and Coke. Of course, you drink Coke. It’s like you’re a child.”
She picks up her glass of vodka and the whiskey glass, once hers but now his, and heads downstairs to finish making her drink.
Downstairs, Vidya and Vishal are in the middle of unpacking and sorting through their groceries. As Vidya places the shallots from the bag onto the counter, she says to Vishal, “I hope you know that someone’s gotta eat the pongal Romesh got for us.”
To which Vishal replies, “Yeah, yeah. Just give it to Aleena. Tell her you made it, she’ll not be able to say no.”
Sadly for Vishal, it is exactly at this moment that Aleena enters the kitchen. She had clearly heard his evil plan and replied, “I like how you think, da. Maybe next time, make sure I’m not in the room before you plan to betray me.”
Aleena manoeuvres her way through the kitchen, making sure to nudge Vishal, while giving Vidya a quick hug. As Vidya hugged Aleena, she asked Vishal, “Now who will eat the pongal?”
Aleena, ignoring this dilemma, notices the groceries all neatly laid out on the counter. Excited, she says, “I see you guys got everything.”
To which Vishal replies, “Look. I’m happy that you’re cooking, but it’s pretty late already. Do you think you’ll be done in time?”
Aleena dismisses these concerns with a wave of her hand and continues to rummage through the fridge, in hopes of finding some cranberry juice. Suddenly, she feels someone tapping on her shoulder. She turns around to find Vidya holding a cold glass of tender coconut water. Aleena smiles and snatches it out of Vidya’s hand, excitedly claiming, “That should work.”
She then proceeds to pick up a lemon, some mint leaves, and a bottle of Rooh Afza from the fridge. Dropping the mint into her vodka, she lightly crushes it with a spoon, then cuts the lemon in half and squeezes both halves into the glass. She adds a dash of Rooh Afza, tops it off with cold tender coconut water, and hands the remaining water to Vidya. Taking a sip of her creation, she says, “Perfect. And without ice, too.”
Annoyed, Vishal asks, “If you’re done fixing yourself a drink, do you think you could get started with lunch?”
Aleena nods as she continues to sip on her drink. She walks over to the counter and examines all the ingredients. She puts her drink down, and without taking her eyes off the ingredients, she says, “Give me thirty minutes.”
Respecting this request, Vishal and Vidya leave the kitchen with Romesh’s pongal in hand, hoping to feed it to some of the stray dogs.
Now, alone in the kitchen, Aleena takes one last sip of her drink and closes her eyes as she savours it, and tries to recollect the recipe for her famous Breadfruit Curry. Or, as she would like for you to call it, her famous Kadachakka Varutharachathu. The reason she had to recollect it every time was that she never really wrote it down. She didn’t believe in sticking to recipes. She believed more in agak-agak. Which, according to her, is Malay for, “You’ll know when it’s ready”. Although what it really means is “to guess”. So this meant she’d have to remember how it tasted to her, the first time she ate it and try to recreate that, every single time. Interestingly, this also happened to be one of those dishes, like many others in her mental cookbook, that wasn’t originally hers. She was introduced to it by a Malayali boy who made it for her when they first met a few years ago.
She tried to remember everything he had done that day and followed along, mimicking him step by step.
First, he had chopped up the kadachakka into small bite-sized chunks and kept them aside. Then, he mixed some turmeric powder, some coriander powder, some chilli powder, and some salt into a pan and lightly toasted it. Aleena did the same. Then he tossed the kadachakka into a pot, added a little bit of water, and dumped the toasted spices into it. Boiling it just a bit, until the kadachakka turns soft. Which it does very easily. Aleena remembered how while he waited for it to cook, he drizzled some coconut oil into a frying pan, and tossed some grated coconut, some shallots, a lot of curry leaves, a little bit of pepper, a piece of cinnamon, a piece of cardamom, some fennel seeds, a couple of cloves, and a star anise, and toasted them. And just then, just as he had done, Aleena scooped out a piece of the kadachakka from the pot and pressed down on it to check if it was soft enough. Sure enough, it was perfect. Now, from what she remembers, he was making small talk at this point. He needed some time for the toasted masala to cool down before he could grind it all to a paste. Although, as Aleena looked around, she didn’t have anyone to make small talk with. She could go outside and maybe wait it out with Vishal and Vidya, but that would take her out of what she was doing right now. So, she waited.
Once the masala had cooled down, she popped it into the grinder and went at it till it was a smooth paste. All that was left was for her to drop the ground masala into the boiled kadachakka, mix it well, and let it simmer. Once again, she had to wait. But then she remembered, he was doing something else. Yes, he was making small talk, but there was one last thing that he did. And suddenly she remembered. He took out a tiny kadai, which sadly, she didn’t have. Instead, she took out a big one and heated some coconut oil in it. And into that she tossed some mustard seeds, some dried red chillies, and some curry leaves. Once that had popped off, she poured it over the now-thick gravy.
She could smell it. Just like the Malay way, she knew it was all agak-agak. Just like that first time, when he had scooped out a piece of kadachakka from the gravy and fed it to her, she now picked out a piece and tasted it. She smiled and said, “Tastes just like the first time.”
Thirty minutes were up, and Vishal was now impatient. He stormed into the kitchen, ready to be annoyed. But as soon as he entered, he caught the smell of the curry and was instantly disarmed. Aleena noticed his presence, and without turning around to look at him, she said, “I’m guessing thirty minutes are up.”
To which Vishal replied, “Yes.”
Aleena grabbed the plates, as if to signal that lunch was ready. As an appropriate response, Vishal sat down at the table, eagerly waiting for whatever she had prepared. Vidya soon followed, as the aroma of the curry had managed to sneak into every corner of the house. It had gotten to a point where Aleena’s memory lingered throughout Angel’s Nest.
Vidya looks over at Vishal and says, “I didn’t know breadfruit could smell so good.”
To which Vishal replies, “I didn’t even know what breadfruit was until today.”
Aleena laughs at hearing this. She walks up to her hosts, serving them their lunch. Kadachakka Varutharachathu plated beautifully, with a side of rice. She places a plate each in front of them and says, “Enjoy bitches.”
*
And as it was said, lunch was enjoyed, and naps were had. Sunset was nearing, and Aleena managed to be woken up by the smell of freshly made chai. She headed downstairs to find Vishal and Vidya sitting by the porch. Beside them was a tray with a cup of chai that was meant for Aleena.
She sat down next to them, sipping on her chai and watching the sky. Not necessarily waiting for the moment the sun would set, but just enjoying the lead-up to it. She sat there, trying to understand the different shades of the sky, trying to understand how the clouds played with the light of the sun. Lost in this, she hasn’t noticed how one of the clouds was about to reveal the whole sun itself, shining a light on her that was too bright for her liking.
It was at this moment that she remembered that she hadn’t washed the whiskey glass that Nikhil had used to make his drink. As she stood up, Vishal asked, “Where are you going?”
Aleena just responds, “I forgot something,” and leaves.
She heads to the kitchen and notices the whiskey glass next to the fridge. As she washes it, Vishal walks up to her and asks, “Why are you washing that glass? That was just sitting there.”
Aleena gives Vishal a mean look and says, “It’s that guy. He used it and didn’t wash it.”
Vishal, realising that she’s talking about Nikhil, teases her, saying, “Oh? Do you mean Nikhil? That cute guy Nikhil?”
To which Aleena responds, “I said it once!”
Which was a lie, and Vishal knew this. He says, “Sure. If, like by one time, you mean a hundred.”
Aleena knew there was no point in arguing about this, as she, too, knew the truth. So, she placed the whiskey glass on the kitchen counter to dry and walked back to the room upstairs.
But Vishal followed, continuing to tease her, saying, “Where are you going? Are you gonna get ready for him now?”
Surprised, Aleena turns around and asks, “What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s coming tomorrow. I dunno at what time, but he is coming.”
Aleena doesn’t really know how to feel about this. Vishal notices the blank look on her face. Even he doesn’t know what to make of it, but he knows that something is off. He asks, “Hey, if you don’t want him to come, I could like … ask him not to come?”
To which Aleena snaps back, saying, “Don’t be ridiculous. That just makes it look weird.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Aleena, trying to make some sense of what she is feeling, asks, “Is he like coming to see me?”
“I mean, that’s the plan. That’s why he came last time as well, for Christmas. But you didn’t show up. Remember?”
Aleena, leaning back onto the wall that’s behind her, smiles and says, “But I won’t be there tomorrow. Remember? I’m leaving early in the morning. Got a flight to catch from Chennai.”
Vishal, who had completely forgotten about this, curses out loud and asks, “So you’re telling me, you guys won’t get to meet this time as well?”
Aleena just smiles nervously as some sort of weird acknowledgement to the question and the situation. Vishal, though, visibly frustrated by this, says, “It’s like God doesn’t want the two of you to meet.”
To which Aleena replies, “Yeah, cause God has no better job than to inconvenience me, right? Just relax. I’m sure I’ll see him the next time he’s here.”
“I hope so. At least for his sake.”
Aleena wonders how Nikhil will react when he finds out he’s missed her once again. She walks back to the balcony and settles into her futon. Lost in this thought, she lights a cigarette and takes a drag of it. As she exhales the smoke, she looks at Nikhil’s cigarette sitting beside her and gives it a smile.
*
The day had ended, and night had come and gone. Aleena, who hadn’t managed to sleep well, was getting ready to leave. But before that, she had to make sure to pay her respects to the pavizhamalli. As always, she headed down to the garden with her wooden bowl to collect the pavizhamalli.
As she picked them up, one by one, she asked them, “I wonder what Nikhil will think about me, once he sees you guys in the room.”
The pavizhamalli said nothing. Yet oddly, the silence managed to put a smile on Aleena’s face. She replied to their silence, saying, “No matter what he says, I just hope he leaves you all alone.”
With all of the pavizhamalli in the bowl, Aleena headed up to the room and placed them down on the bedside table. Not in their usual spot, but all the way on the other end. The side of the bed that Aleena sleeps on. She then folded her blanket into a narrow strip, just enough for one and left it on her side of the bed. And on the other side, she placed a freshly dry-cleaned blanket, still wrapped in the plastic from the cleaners. Looking at the pavizhamalli, she said, “Now he’ll know not to disturb you.”
And with that, she left. Leaving her room open to Nikhil. Ready to be seen, just as long as he knew how to look.