Food or Love

“Got it!!” she exclaimed, dropped everything in hand and rushed to clean the new possession that she dished out from the corner room store area. Mother had finally found the old casserole lunch box that Neela aunty had gifted her during dassera the year before. Her diwali cleaning was in full swing with the wife as the commander-in-chief, the maid as a foot soldier and I was left to replenish the resources (cleaners/scrubbers/soap/...) & run with the kids.

All these days, I thought she joked whenever she said that a casserole box, like the layered one mani takes, would be good for me. She did try to tell the wife to buy one but somehow I could reason and explain how people would stare at me wherever I carried it. The wife also feared that with my box streamlined, the mother would shift focus on her and get her one too, which she dreaded.

Focus of what was eaten and how well has always been a focus at home for the ladies. The granny, whenever met, would enquire about the previous meal and if it was rightly concluded with curd rice. She would also enquire if we were all eating primarily at home and not out all our meals. Granny was always worried that my 100 kilo cousin was not eat well and hence losing weight. She was food-food all the time and why not be, as the delicacies that she dished out were out of the world. Mom has inherited most of those features and the wifey is already showing streaks of the same.

The cleaning took a pause as she laid hands on the box & discussions soon began on what would be filled in each of the layers. The bottom was more of less decided for the veggies and curries. The maid added that now liquid form of curries/dal and so can also be packed easily without spilling now. Huh!! ... I and the wifey were silent, I was cornered and she feared she too would follow.

She was up early morning the next day and the maid came in before 8 too (she normally does not appear before 830 otherwise). Mother and wife had done most of the cooking by 8 and started packing. The maid wiped all the layers well with great care. They began packing as if it was for a huge army travelling from Tanjore to Kashmir.

Stacked in a big bag (to hide it) as I carried the box walking towards the car I tripped and fell. As I gathered sense my first thought was about the box. Eyes searching for it, saw it fallen in the mud; food strewn across; wind had taken the plastic cover to the other end of the compound.
My throat dried and I choked, there was a sudden grief. Guess I really wanted to savour the love packed and bundled as it lay strayed.