“So, what’s for breakfast?”
For me, this is the scariest question possible on a Monday morning. Especially when my delightful maid decides to take off for a few days without letting me know.
Krishna is an extremely picky eater, my parents need very soft and bland food, and my husband and I need something to eat. Anything edible.
Picky eaters we are not.
And last but not the least, my dad’s latest attender. Poor boy, he isn’t picky either; he just wants food, and plenty of it.
A few days ago, Manjamma softly and suddenly vanished.
“Don’t panic. I’ll help you,” my husband declared.
Just like that. No second thoughts about running late for work or kitchen chores being bothersome or anything else.
And so we began.
He washed and I chopped.
He sorted and chose; I fried and steamed.
We worked with few words and the smooth ease of years together, to the sounds of sizzling, sputtering, and the shrill whistle of the pressure cooker. We squinted at the morning sun and worked together like we used to, before life was filled with tension and the uncertainty of Krishna’s future.
We both kept an ear peeled for Krishna’s voice; he was still sleeping, thankfully.
And voila, breakfast was ready. Multiple breakfasts, rather.
Barley and oats porridge.
Stir-fried veggies and pongal.
Rice and rasam.
Rice and lentils veggie wraps (fancy name for masala dosa).
We sighed in relief. Food was ready, and Krishna was still asleep.
Then my husband asked, “Suppose he refuses to eat any of this?”
“I’ll think of something else…”
And then he was gone. Late for work.
Krishna woke up. Refused to brush his teeth. Refused to eat anything. Proceeded to have a meltdown.
And yet.
That hour of easy affection and companionship carried me through.
Yesterday was a repeat.
Today cannot be a repeat. Krishna is awake and in a fairly good mood. My husband has gone for a meeting.
Still no maid.
I’m hoping Manjamma deigns to come for work; her phone is switched off and not reachable.
Hmmm. Smoothies are easy to make, and Krishna doesn’t object to them too much…
