2.4 Vir
Halfway through breakfast, I realized that something was wrong with my family.
On the surface, things seemed fine.
Viveka was in and out of the kitchen, trying to show the new maid how to make American-style flapjacks. She had developed this urge to cook since she'd come back from New York. It was part of the whole rediscovery of her ethnic roots she was going through, along with dressing Indian and wearing a nose ring and talking in Hindi a lot.
I had to admit I quite liked the cooking part at least. Viveka was a natural born chef, able to turn out a masterpiece the first time she tried out a recipe. If I didn't praise her openly, it was because I had learned the hard way that in these post-millennial times, some women considered it an insult to be called a great cook. As in "just a great cook, is that all you think I am?"
So when Viveka offered me another Amriki chapatti--I mean, pancake!--I pretended to think for a moment, then said, "Why not."
She served me the flapjack, watched me smear a knifeful of butter over it, then add maple syrup too--I liked the combination of sweet and salty. I cut a piece with my knife, speared it with my fork and was about to raise it to my mouth, when I noticed her still standing there, watching.
"What?" I said, frowning. That was when I realized that Sarla, my wife, was also watching me. Both women had similar expressions on their faces. Like mother, like daughter.
I put the fork down on the plate. "Whose birthday did I forget?"
Vaibhav rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Dad, tube-light!"
I couldn't think of anything I'd done to warrant the Garuda-eye stares. "I give up," I said at last. "What's my crime, m'lord?" I corrected myself: "M'ladies?"
Viveka and Sarla exchanged a glance. It was one of those typical women's looks that openly express disdain for the male of the species--these guys!
"Vir," Sarla said softly. "At least for politeness sake, say something about the flapjacks."
"It's okay, mum," Viveka said with extra-sweetness. "If he doesn't like them, I can understand."
I raised my eyebrows. "Is that what this is about? My not praising her flapjacks to the skies? God, you women! I'll never understand you. The last time I praised your cooking, Sarla, you gave me a half-hour lecture about how demeaning it was to a women to be called a great cook."
Sarla's eyes flashed angrily. "You made a statement to the effect that I belonged in the kitchen! Did you expect me to touch your feet for that, patidev?"
I raised my hands, giving up. "Bas! Full stop. Let's not get into that all over again." I looked up at Viveka, taking her hand in mine. "Bete, Viv. These are the best goddamn flapjacks I've ever had in my entire life!"
Viveka smiled. It was a giant, ear-to-ear banana smile, the way she used to smile when she was a toddler and I used to pick her up and threw her up to the skies. Even after all these years, it made my heart glow.
"He called them goddamn flapjacks," Vhy said teasingly from the other end of the table. "So don't mistake it for a compliment, Viv."
Viv ignored her brother. "Have some more, dad!" She started to shovel two more jacks onto my plate.
"Viveka," her mother admonished. "You'll make your father fat! Bad enough I have to fight to keep Mikey's intake down."
"But he loves them, Ma!" Still, Viveka put the jacks back on the platter. I grinned with mock frustration.
"Women," I remarked deliberately. "Can't figure them out, can't do without their figures!"
"Relax, Viv," Vhy said as he put his fork down. "Mikey'll be here in a sec. And he'll polish off the lot. In fact, make sure you have another truckload ready for him! You know how he loves breakfast."
"And lunch. And dinner. And snack-times. And midnight snacks. Etc, etc, etc."
She glanced at Vhy, and I saw a look pass between them. Something odd. I also noticed that Vaibhav hadn't finished his pancake, and that even his attempts at breakfast-table banter seemed a little forced today, almost as if he was trying hard to cover up the fact that he didn't feel like bantering.
Viveka broke the eye-lock between herself and her younger brother, and called to Shanti-bai to bring the last stack out.
Mikey appeared just then. Whistling. That wasn't unusual in itself. But he was also neatly dressed in a shirt and trousers--an actual pair of trousers. I put down his knife and fork and stared at my youngest child. I hadn't even known that Mikey possessed anything but jeans and hard rock T-shirts!
"Hi, everyone," Mikey said cheerfully. He took a seat and looked around the breakfast table. "So how's everyone this morning? I mean, is it a great day or what?"
Pin drop silence followed. Sarla Vatsal was in the act of pouring tea for herself and Viv. Viveka had sat down to sample her own cooking. Vhy had been trying to get a coffee stain out of Page 314 of the Harry Potter novel he had been pretending to reread while making his forced banter. He was staring at Mikey like he had seen a ghost.
Mikey rubbed his hands together, smiling as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss. "Flapjacks for breakfast? Smells great, Viv."
Viveka managed to stutter out a response: "Help yourself, Mikey."
He nodded and reached for the platter. At that point, I started to relax. Very well, so perhaps Mikey wasn't his usual grouchy self. So he was dressed unusually neat for a change. Perhaps he had actually discovered how to use a hairbrush at last. And perhaps he had misplaced his trademark Sony Discman and the latest hard-rock CD.
But he was about to eat like a 'healthy baby'. And that was normal for Mikey.
We all watched as Mikey took a knife and cut himself a slice of a flapjack from the platter. He slid the piece onto his own plate, picked it up with his fork, and ate it.
"Hey," he said to Viveka. "This is great stuff. You really are a woman of diverse talents, sis!"
Viveka blinked and stopped chewing her mouthful of flapjack. I saw her cast a glance at Vaibhav. She looked almost scared, but that couldn't be. I must have misread her look. Why would she look scared of Mikey?
Mikey put down his fork, picked up his glass of milk and drank it down without a pause. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and smiled at everyone again.
"Okay, that's it for me," he said. "Busy day. Going over to the library to check out some new books. See you guys later, okay? Bysie-bye, family. Love y'all."
And as all of us watched with silent stupefaction, he picked up his tote bag and was out of the door.
I was the first to find my voice.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, addressing myself in the general direction of my wife. "But did that young person bear a passing resemblance to our son, Mahesh Vatsal, aka Mikey?"
Then, before anyone could respond, I shook my head and answered my own rhetorical question. "Nahi, bhai, I must be mistaken. He hardly ate breakfast. He finished a full glass of milk. He's washed, groomed, and dressed like a normal 12-year old boy. He was friendly and cheerful and polite to everyone. And he said he was going to the library, to borrow books!"
I looked around at my family. "That's not our son Mikey. It's just somebody who happens to look like him!"
I grinned as I said it, meaning it as a joke of course. But the look of utter horror that came over Vaibhav and Viveka's faces looked almost real. As if they took what I said dead seriously.
On the surface, things seemed fine.
Viveka was in and out of the kitchen, trying to show the new maid how to make American-style flapjacks. She had developed this urge to cook since she'd come back from New York. It was part of the whole rediscovery of her ethnic roots she was going through, along with dressing Indian and wearing a nose ring and talking in Hindi a lot.
I had to admit I quite liked the cooking part at least. Viveka was a natural born chef, able to turn out a masterpiece the first time she tried out a recipe. If I didn't praise her openly, it was because I had learned the hard way that in these post-millennial times, some women considered it an insult to be called a great cook. As in "just a great cook, is that all you think I am?"
So when Viveka offered me another Amriki chapatti--I mean, pancake!--I pretended to think for a moment, then said, "Why not."
She served me the flapjack, watched me smear a knifeful of butter over it, then add maple syrup too--I liked the combination of sweet and salty. I cut a piece with my knife, speared it with my fork and was about to raise it to my mouth, when I noticed her still standing there, watching.
"What?" I said, frowning. That was when I realized that Sarla, my wife, was also watching me. Both women had similar expressions on their faces. Like mother, like daughter.
I put the fork down on the plate. "Whose birthday did I forget?"
Vaibhav rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Dad, tube-light!"
I couldn't think of anything I'd done to warrant the Garuda-eye stares. "I give up," I said at last. "What's my crime, m'lord?" I corrected myself: "M'ladies?"
Viveka and Sarla exchanged a glance. It was one of those typical women's looks that openly express disdain for the male of the species--these guys!
"Vir," Sarla said softly. "At least for politeness sake, say something about the flapjacks."
"It's okay, mum," Viveka said with extra-sweetness. "If he doesn't like them, I can understand."
I raised my eyebrows. "Is that what this is about? My not praising her flapjacks to the skies? God, you women! I'll never understand you. The last time I praised your cooking, Sarla, you gave me a half-hour lecture about how demeaning it was to a women to be called a great cook."
Sarla's eyes flashed angrily. "You made a statement to the effect that I belonged in the kitchen! Did you expect me to touch your feet for that, patidev?"
I raised my hands, giving up. "Bas! Full stop. Let's not get into that all over again." I looked up at Viveka, taking her hand in mine. "Bete, Viv. These are the best goddamn flapjacks I've ever had in my entire life!"
Viveka smiled. It was a giant, ear-to-ear banana smile, the way she used to smile when she was a toddler and I used to pick her up and threw her up to the skies. Even after all these years, it made my heart glow.
"He called them goddamn flapjacks," Vhy said teasingly from the other end of the table. "So don't mistake it for a compliment, Viv."
Viv ignored her brother. "Have some more, dad!" She started to shovel two more jacks onto my plate.
"Viveka," her mother admonished. "You'll make your father fat! Bad enough I have to fight to keep Mikey's intake down."
"But he loves them, Ma!" Still, Viveka put the jacks back on the platter. I grinned with mock frustration.
"Women," I remarked deliberately. "Can't figure them out, can't do without their figures!"
"Relax, Viv," Vhy said as he put his fork down. "Mikey'll be here in a sec. And he'll polish off the lot. In fact, make sure you have another truckload ready for him! You know how he loves breakfast."
"And lunch. And dinner. And snack-times. And midnight snacks. Etc, etc, etc."
She glanced at Vhy, and I saw a look pass between them. Something odd. I also noticed that Vaibhav hadn't finished his pancake, and that even his attempts at breakfast-table banter seemed a little forced today, almost as if he was trying hard to cover up the fact that he didn't feel like bantering.
Viveka broke the eye-lock between herself and her younger brother, and called to Shanti-bai to bring the last stack out.
Mikey appeared just then. Whistling. That wasn't unusual in itself. But he was also neatly dressed in a shirt and trousers--an actual pair of trousers. I put down his knife and fork and stared at my youngest child. I hadn't even known that Mikey possessed anything but jeans and hard rock T-shirts!
"Hi, everyone," Mikey said cheerfully. He took a seat and looked around the breakfast table. "So how's everyone this morning? I mean, is it a great day or what?"
Pin drop silence followed. Sarla Vatsal was in the act of pouring tea for herself and Viv. Viveka had sat down to sample her own cooking. Vhy had been trying to get a coffee stain out of Page 314 of the Harry Potter novel he had been pretending to reread while making his forced banter. He was staring at Mikey like he had seen a ghost.
Mikey rubbed his hands together, smiling as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss. "Flapjacks for breakfast? Smells great, Viv."
Viveka managed to stutter out a response: "Help yourself, Mikey."
He nodded and reached for the platter. At that point, I started to relax. Very well, so perhaps Mikey wasn't his usual grouchy self. So he was dressed unusually neat for a change. Perhaps he had actually discovered how to use a hairbrush at last. And perhaps he had misplaced his trademark Sony Discman and the latest hard-rock CD.
But he was about to eat like a 'healthy baby'. And that was normal for Mikey.
We all watched as Mikey took a knife and cut himself a slice of a flapjack from the platter. He slid the piece onto his own plate, picked it up with his fork, and ate it.
"Hey," he said to Viveka. "This is great stuff. You really are a woman of diverse talents, sis!"
Viveka blinked and stopped chewing her mouthful of flapjack. I saw her cast a glance at Vaibhav. She looked almost scared, but that couldn't be. I must have misread her look. Why would she look scared of Mikey?
Mikey put down his fork, picked up his glass of milk and drank it down without a pause. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and smiled at everyone again.
"Okay, that's it for me," he said. "Busy day. Going over to the library to check out some new books. See you guys later, okay? Bysie-bye, family. Love y'all."
And as all of us watched with silent stupefaction, he picked up his tote bag and was out of the door.
I was the first to find my voice.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, addressing myself in the general direction of my wife. "But did that young person bear a passing resemblance to our son, Mahesh Vatsal, aka Mikey?"
Then, before anyone could respond, I shook my head and answered my own rhetorical question. "Nahi, bhai, I must be mistaken. He hardly ate breakfast. He finished a full glass of milk. He's washed, groomed, and dressed like a normal 12-year old boy. He was friendly and cheerful and polite to everyone. And he said he was going to the library, to borrow books!"
I looked around at my family. "That's not our son Mikey. It's just somebody who happens to look like him!"
I grinned as I said it, meaning it as a joke of course. But the look of utter horror that came over Vaibhav and Viveka's faces looked almost real. As if they took what I said dead seriously.
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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