In His Custody ✎ (MaNan)

✰ 32 - ghosts within

Thanks to two of my readers who gave me the power to choose what to do, it's a separate chapter now (just so my readers don't have super lengthy parts to read at once :') ) I hope this is still a worth-while update!

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Nandini

From the bottom cabinet, I drew out a heavy vessel with a crater-shaped cavity.

Ammamma's ancestral mortar and pestle held with it several loving memories of our childhood in this city, where she would make spice pastes from scratch to use in sambars and rasams; she even made homemade chutneys with them. While squatting, I hugged it trying to feel some of her warmth I tenderly missed as I held one of her most priced possessions – not by wealth but in nostalgia.

Thanks to Aiyappa, Amma, and Appa who brought it with them to gift it to me and our flat.  

In using my Ammamma's equipment, I felt a sense of transferring several generations' worth of love and comfort down to a simple heartwarming drink – chai. Rishu loved chai, just like the parents we lost did. Whole spices were grouped into the centre and as I hammered it, a warm woody fragrance wafted from the oils inside the cinnamon ginger, and cardamom, enriching the air around me with the soothing smell. I dropped the crushed bits, stirred the simmering pot of milk with a ladle, and turned up the flame while inhaling the aromatic sweetness of the brew.

"Akka, make tea later, you gotta watch this and tell Mukti Di to make this!" Through the arch in the kitchen, I saw Rishabh seated on the cane couch salivating at the potato swirl sauced along the sides in a vlog touring Bangalore's famous eatery spots. I almost chuckled at the delightful sight while my heart tugged at the beautiful memory of Amma trying her amazing (read: experimental) chef skills on him and feeding him okra pasta, maggie parantha, and egg pongal to name a few quirky dishes.

We were middle-class and growing up with our Chikkappa, whom I now call Appa, meant we were conditioned from a very young age to be extremely careful with money. Eating outside food had been rare... a monthly thing when Amma was on the first day of her period. Ah, how much they loved each other... Before I let that feeling broil any further, the milk frothed to the top of the pot. I lowered the flame, taming and clearing those destructive thoughts as the brew curbed and finally, I plopped some loose black tea into it, reigniting the stove to a higher degree.

"Your Mukti Di is a great cook alright, but your Nandu Akka can easily buy this for you!" I set the spoon to a side and turned crossing my arms with a badgering grin. Having consistently eaten home-cooked food on the regular, it was possible it had slipped Rishu's mind that I was an earning woman who could afford to buy him the snack he wanted. Actually, anything he wanted. I could do anything he wanted.

Rishabh wrung his head, pulling his legs into a cross-legged position as he sought me with the perfect blend of sheer surprise and unbounded appreciation, "Really?" I nodded in pure delight. As if making up his mind on the compromise, he side-eyed me before putting forth a very respectful and humbling request. "Okay, but you have to promise me you'll undo your bun, it makes you look so old!"

I felt the back of my head, unaware of the bun I habitually tied each time I stepped into the kitchen, a lesson ingrained from the start as Ammamma's catering staff had to do the same before commencing their shifts. "I'll leave my hair free and flowing like a ghost, so every time the wind blows, I can become Samara from The Ring, is that better?"

Rishabh was beyond terrified of that movie he once was peer-pressured into watching along with Abhi and his friends from SPACE. While my tone until then had been laced with derided amusement, the reminiscence surrounding that horror movie night was... "NO no no... not her!" His hands flew to his eyes as if the girl was about to squirm out of the well and capture him through the TV. He peeked through his fingers once he realised the movie was just in his head, and caught me giggling to myself.