Mishri placed all the dishes on the table and called her family to lunch. She went to her 80-year-old mother-in-law's Shantha's room and told her that lunch was served. Shantha was reclining, half asleep, listening to music.
Since turning 80, Shantha's reflexes had slowed down but not her mind. She was still sharp and still made Mishri, who was herself on the verge of becoming a mother-in-law to a beautiful bride, nervous. Having lived in the village all her life, Shantha had only recently moved in with her son and the occasional anxiety of meeting her mother-in-law became a little more permanent now.
The greatest tussle happened in the kitchen. Whatever Mishri made always seemed to fall short of Shantha's expectations. "You could have added ginger in the gravy," she would say. If Mishri said, "I have added ginger," then her mother-in-law would say, "Garlic, that's what you need to get the right flavour."
Never mind the rest of the family found nothing wrong with the dish and in fact would be ecstatic about it. "Garlic would have made it better," would be her verdict and the rest of the family would respond with a safe 'Maybe.'
In her mind, Mishri started thinking of her mother-in-law as 'one-more-ingredient mil'. She sometimes relieved her anxiety by joking about it with her friends. But really, it was not as if Shantha had been a bad mother-in-law. She was not demanding and she did not expect her daughter-in-law to be her slave. She sometimes even sided with Mishri in her arguments with her husband Raj. If Mishri was right, Shantha would fight tooth and nail and if Raj was right, she would simply say, "Don't bully her!"
Mishri often contemplated the rather peculiar relationship between a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law and wondered why it was so complicated. Truth be told, she knew it was no less complicated than other relationships. Could the relationship between a couple be called simple? Even with one's own children, didn't you feel the urge to throttle them! She laughed at how mad she could get with them sometimes.
She had friends who were high maintenance though nice and she had friends who were insensitive. Mishri's own mother had also been a strong woman and often the two had clashed. What made it different with her mother-in-law was that Mishri could walk out on her mother in anger and within half-an-hour call her for a clarification. But with Shantha, the fact that she was not her own mother naturally made it difficult for her to express her views as openly. The fact that she could not say, 'Get lost,' made it bothersome. Living in the same house but being unable to be open put a strain on the relationship. Over the years, she had, of course, found her own ways to express her views but it was done slyly.
The main area of dispute seemed to be the kitchen. Just from the aroma Shantha could discern the different ingredients. Mishri liked to experiment a bit. Sometimes she would add something, at other times, not add a usual ingredient. Shantha would know it without even putting it in her mouth. "No, you must not add clove to this dish..." "How can you not add cinnamon to this?" were the extent of their tussle. Really trivial, considering how some of the problems her friends had with their mothers-in-law. But this stressed her out. Balancing how she wanted to cook a particular dish and what her mother-in-law would think. Despite all the feedback about missing ingredients, her mother-in-law would eat the dish with gusto and age had not diminished the appetite.
In the last few days, though, Mishri was a little disturbed by some change she was noticing in her mother-in-law. She seemed hungry but had no desire to eat. Even the smell of ghee heating or snacks being deep-fried did not excite her. She ate, but more as a duty than with any interest. "Nothing smells good," she had complained though that was not the case, for sure. Her husband and children still came drawn by the aroma of something tasty being cooked. But her mother-in-law alone seemed listless and bored. "Let me make something today," she had said the previous evening and then complained about ingredients not being what they were before. She had not eaten anything and, well, she definitely had lost her touch. The taste was off.
"What do you think is the matter with her?" Mishri asked as she sat down for lunch beside her husband. "She said she eat a little later. It is already 2."
"Age, Mishri. We have to be ready for this when we grow old," he said.
"It is just in the last one week that she has been like this. She seems off food... You know she loves good food."
"Complimenting yourself in the process?" he teased her with a laugh.
"I do cook well, whatever your mother may say," Mishri jerked an elbow in his direction, as if to hit him. He moved back to avoid it. He got up and went to his mother's room. "It's getting late. Mishri has made your favourite paneer makhanki. Aren't you coming to it?"
"It smells like mud," Shantha replied curtly.
"It smells heavenly. Why are you being so catankerous?" he asked, a little irritated.
Shantha turned away without a response.
"You must be hungry and irritable. If you don't like paneer makhani, have some dal chawal, come," he cajoled her. She went to the dining table reluctantly and looked around disinterestedly. Finally she had very little food and left before the others had even begun.
"Let's call the doctor," Mishri insisted.
"Lack of appetite?" the doctor asked on the phone.
"Yes, doctor, she doesn't seem interested in her food," Raj told the doctor. The doctor probed further and it emerged that she was complaining of food having no aroma.
"Inability to smell is one of the symptoms of Covid-19, didn't you know that? Get her tested immediately," the doctor said.
It was Covid, and luckily she recovered. She was not able to enjoy the food till her sense of smell returned.
This fascinated Mishri. Before even the tongue could pass judgement, the nose was setting benchmarks! Was it the inability to smell that had put her mother-in-law off the food? Once it returned, so did the nitpicking as well as the appetite! And Mishri felt life was as it should be.
No comments:
Post a Comment