Deccan Herald ' Articulations ' Detailed Story SHORT STORY Two World Cups BY JAYASHREE JAGANNALHA Sharada smiled at the triumphant face of Dhoni as he lifted the trophy.
The hissing sound arose from the seasoning in the pot along with the aroma of king. Sharada dropped the purple brinjal pieces in to the oil and mixed them quickly. She absent-mindedly tested the firmness of the chapatti dough between her two fingers. Her ears were catching the words floating in from the drawing room. Aravind, her husband, was discussing the recent world cup victory with her father-in-law, Mukund Rao, and their visitors, Uncle Swamy Kaka and his two sons. Everybody praised Kapil Dev and his boys.
The meal of hot chapattis, purple palya with fresh coconut, drum stick avial, rice and the tomoto rasam will be relished by everyone, Sharada thought to herself. Thank God India won; otherwise Aravind would have been in one of his moods. Her husband had never had the chance to truly grow up. His parents were from a village on the banks of the river Sharavathi deep inside the western ghats of Karnataka. Their entire financial security had been their first born, Aravind, without whom they would have no exposure to modern life. They believed that whoever married him would be the luckiest girl in the whole world, and Aravind believed likewise.
Her mother-in-law came in to help her set the table and the men started their dinner. Sharada kept rolling out the chapattis and her mother-in-law served them hot. She poured the red rasam with its floating dark green curry leaves into a serving bowl, bringing out the heavenly aromatic melted ghee to serve with it. Her ears still kept picking up bits of the conversation. She suddenly had an urge to join; she wanted to say why Krishnamachari Srikanth was not as good a batsman as he was made out to be, and how the pitch had assisted Mohinder Amarnath s deliveries. But she knew that no one would take note of her opinion. Her husband, who had not played anything more serious than gulley cricket, would be embarrassed by her intervention.
In fact, Sharada had represented her university in hockey. That was five long years ago. And even then, while her parents were proud of her in some strange way, it was always understood that letting her play was a concession that would stop once she got married. After she became Aravind s wife, her trophies were sold off. To win a good name as a good daughter-in-law was all that was expected of her.
Sharada ladled the thick, pristine white yoghurt into a bowl and set the crimson mango pickles next to it. Her job at the bank had also been a means to an end; to get her a good husband. When she got engaged to Aravind, her parents were quick to tell her parents-in-law that she would continue to work at the bank only if they approved.
Sharada still remembered that day. She had sat with her head bent after serving hot coffee to everyone who had come to see her. With his benign smile Mukund Rao had nodded his head. She had let down a long sigh of relief.
At the time she did not realise that she would have to work extra hard just to prove that she was still a traditional wife. At the same time she had to bear Aravind s temper tantrums, which were just a way of showing his parents he could still control his wife, even if she had a job.
Sharada placed the golden brown gulabjamuns in to the katoris and spooned the flavoured think syrup around them, ready to serve. Two years ago, when they built their new house, Aravind and her father-in-law had whispered to her not to reveal to any relatives that it was she who had taken the loan against her provident fund.
This money paid not just the house but also for the car and the trips of her parents-in-law. It would be embarrassing for the parents-in-law to stay in a house built by their daughter-in-law.
Such a lucky girl everyone said, her husband has built a home so soon after her marriage and he doesn t even ask her to share the financial burden . A large chunk of her husband s income would regularly go towards his weekend card parties and his booze parties with his friends where he preferred to taste his bachelor days, at least for a few days in a month.
After cleaning up the kitchen, Sharada sat down. The house was silent. She picked up the newspaper and looked at the pictures. She couldn t help smiling at the triumphant look on Kapil Dev s face as he lifted the trophy.
The oil was hot. Sharada dipped the shiny green capsicum pieces in the yellow batter and dropped them one by one in to the oil. They started to spin with a hissing noise. The screams floated in from the drawing room. Sharada s son Arun was on a working-trip to the US. His wife Kaavya, who worked in a software firm, had invited her friends to watch the final match of the Twenty20 world cup. India was playing their arch rivals Pakistan in the finals. It was party time at home.
Sharada cut the bananas into thin rings, added the small cubes of pale green apples and yellow pineapple, and sprinkled pink pomegranate pearls over them. The fruit salad was ready to be served with vanilla ice-cream. Last year when Arun and Kaavya had returned from their honeymoon, there was a minor commotion at home.
Returning directly from the Goan beaches, Kaavya had walked in her pink shorts and a white top with her arm holding Arun s. One look at her father-in-law and Sharada had escorted the young couple in to their room and left them to rest there while she had quickly tried to get busy with tidying the kitchen.
Sharada set the tomato and thai chicken salad chilly sauce next to the bhajias. Another wicket must have fallen. Sharada set the tea tray and took it to her parents-in-law s room. She could sense that they were not happy with the young boys and girls making all the noise in the drawing room. Sharada smiled to her self and went back to the kitchen.
Kaavya had recently bought a home theater and salad diet a flat screen television specially to watch the cricket matches.
She had also refurnished the drawing room with new leather covered sofas. Sharada would very proudly tell everyone about them to the discomfort of her husband and in-laws. She would even point out Kaavya s medals from college, prominently displayed over the mantle.
The bhajias were crisp and golden brown. She took them out to drop the next batch in. She did not forget to add a few onion bhajias which were her father-in-law s favourite. She poured the orange Fanta in to the tall glasses and took the tray out to serve.
The young people were cheering Irfan Pathan taking Shahid Afridi s wicket. A boy gave a hi-five to Kaavya and she did an impromptu jig. There was a lot of din and clapping and Sharada had to cross over the stretched out limbs and plates placed on the floor. She stood for a minute to watch and hellman's potato salad recipe thought, The pitch will assist Joginder Singh s deliveries .
She cleaned up the kitchen and put off the lights. The match was over. The young people had gone out to celebrate. The house was silent and the others were sleeping. She sat downswitched the television on.
They were still showing reruns of the final moments of the match. She smiled at the triumphant face of Dhoni as he lifted the trophy.
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