Rules of the Game

Neelam

When Sameer invited me to dinner at his place, I was expecting something casual like eating cheap takeout over office gossip. I am here at the 'not-a-date-I-promise', and he is cooking dinner. I sip on my glass of wine, and complain my heart out, "Something is off with Sunny. He has been cancelling our meetings. Up until last week, he had one complaint or another about everyone suggested for a date. She isn't hot enough. She is too rich. She seems too arrogant. She is too sporty. Not sporty enough. I don't like actresses. Too fake. Blah. Blah. Blah. On Monday, all of a sudden, he texted me for Ria's number, then called her on the same day and now they are on a date. I don't get it. What's with the rush?"

"Neelu, why are you running wingman for him? Stick to the parts of the job you are being paid for. Better yet, keep your work confined to the hours you are being paid to sacrifice. Are the tomatoes, ready?"

I wish it was that easy, "No, sorry. I got distracted. And you are right. I shouldn't be obsessing over my client. It's just that Sunny is a good guy, and he seems in over his head. I want to help him."

Before I can grab the knife, he comes over and starts cutting the tomatoes, "Welcome to earth! Who isn't in over their heads? He is a big boy. He will be fine."

"Wow, you are fast at cutting those tomatoes." I still cannot believe he doesn't have a maid, "You don't have a maid? Seriously? You cook and clean yourself?"

"Yes. Why are you surprised?"

"It's strange. It's not like the west here. You don't even need a wife for cheap household help!" I laugh at my own joke. "Why complicate your life with the domestic? You obviously have no shortage of money."

"I did have help but I got tired of...that lifestyle. Or rather, life sent me a wake up call." I wait for him to say more. A minute passes. I am working out the words to politely ask what happened. He offers it himself, "I was admitted to the hospital six months ago from blacking out after drinking too much."

"Oh," inside my head I am panicked. What do you say when someone tells you something personal and unflattering? I am glad you learnt your lesson, or why did you drink so much, or everyone makes mistakes or I am sorry that happened. I am surprised at the words that come out of my mouth, "That must have been a rough time. The Sameer I know will never do something destructive like that. In the future if you ever needed a friend to hold you steady, I am always here."

He stops cutting the tomatoes for a second but resumes, "Thank you Neelam. I will keep that in mind. What were we talking about?"

"Why you don't have a servant?"

He mixes the tomatoes into the tarka. "Right. After the incident, I realized I needed to be present in my body. In this physical world. And not lost inside my head. There is something about using your own two hands that grounds you in the now. In my family, my father is the best cook. I started making his recipes to reconnect with the happy memories of my childhood. Cooking is healing for my body and soul. So I keep doing it." He washes the rice. "Also, for me, there is no better feeling than the satisfaction of feeding someone."

"Oh, so I am here to make you feel good about yourself."

He laughs, "something like that," and then tries the sauce. I watch his lips form an O to blow on the spoon, his mouth open to shallow the contents of the spoon, his tongue savor the flavor, his whole face concentrate on the taste of the dish and if it matches his expectations. He nods to himself, and into the pressure cooker goes the marinated meat.

"I bet it is healing. I am getting healed just by watching you cook."

He raises his eyebrows at me as if saying, are you flirting with me? "Why don't you go to the living room now. I will be right there. Let me start the rice."