Ashish looked at her. He really looked at her. Not the cursory glance that he spared her every morning on his way out to work. This was more of a scrutiny mixed with equal measure curiosity and familiarity. His eyes at once settled on the tiny barely-there scar on her right cheekbone. Now when had that appeared? He did not remember seeing it before. Ashish remembered the mole on her upper lip, the mole that she disliked so much but which he had always claimed added character to her face. He remembered the dancing dimple that appeared on her left cheek every time she grinned broadly, the dimple that had been his undoing. He even remembered the tiny birthmark near her naval which he yearned to kiss on the rare occasions that she wore a sari. But he certainly did not remember the scar. How long since it had appeared, he wondered. How long since he had really looked at her?

 

Minisha looked around the kitchen in dismay. Neatly arranged shelves of food items and ingredients lay before her. Cabinets full of utensils. Hooks with washed and starched aprons, mittens and kitchen towels. Minisha had taken a special interest in designing the kitchen when they had shifted into this apartment sixteen years ago. She had argued with the interior designer over the color of the walls, opting for bright hues of canary yellow, nascent green and mauve. This is where she would be spending a major chunk of her day, Minisha had reasoned and she wanted the room to look cheery.

 

At first it had been true. Minisha had spent many hours here every morning making breakfast, then preparing lunch which she packed for Ashish and herself. Later in the day back from work, she had never been too tired to make dinner. Minisha loved cooking. it was therapeutic she had claimed, a stress buster. But then she got promoted at work. Her hours got longer. Her home cooked lunches got replaced by business lunches and dinner was often a pizza shared with colleagues. Minisha handed over the reins of her kitchen to her domestic help Maloti. It was not a conscious decision. It was a gradual progression.

 

So Minisha stood in her kitchen completely lost. Where could the coffee jar go? The last time Minisha had entered the kitchen to make her morning cuppa, the coffee jar had been in the cabinet immediately above the stove. But now that cabinet was full of meticulously labelled jars of spices. When was the last time she had made coffee, Minisha wondered? When was the last time she had entered her kitchen?

 

Ashis stared in amazement as Minisha sipped her black coffee. Black coffee! He recalled his first date. Ashish had been in his 3rd year at engineering college and his meagre pocket money had allowed only a trip to Cafe Coffee Day. He remembered it as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday. Minisha had taken her first sip of coffee and wrinkled her nose with distaste. Then with alacrity she had emptied four sachets of white sugar into her coffee cup. Ashish had felt nauseated. That was no longer coffee. Rather it had turned into coffee syrup.

 

Ashish studied Minisha as she sipped her coffee, all the while eyes glued to the newspaper. Another habit of his wife’s Ashish had not picked up on. Reading the newspaper at breakfast table had been a ritual Ashish had imbibed from his father. The first morning of their honeymoon having overslept after a night of torrid love making Ashish had settled down to a leisurely brunch delivered to their suite along with the morning papers. He had barely started with his favorite sports page when minisha had snatched it out of his hands. "No reading while eating" she had admonished, "it’s bad for digestion." Ashish had been preparing to protest when Minisha had lowered herself onto his lap and started to feed him. And ashish had forgotten whatever he had intended to say.

 

For some time now the sound of pots and pans had permeated Manisha’s consciousness. She had ignored it as she immersed herself in her project report. Despite the ‘work from home’ policy, deadlines still had to be met. And her boss was still an impatient lady. But when the heavenly aroma of cheese and herbs wafted into the nook that Minisha called her study, she could ignore it longer. Her salivary glands hyper secreted and her stomach rumbled in protest reminding her that she had eaten nothing since last evening. Minisha took in a lungful of the delicious smell and wondered how Maloti had managed to sneak into the house. The Resident’s Association of the gated housing community they lived in had been quite emphatic about not allowing maids to enter the premises during the lockdown period.

 

Minisha made her way to the kitchen to greet Maloti with a smile of gratitude writ large on her face. At the threshold of the kitchen she stopped short, shocked at the spectacle that greeted her. Ashish stood at the stove, an apron draped over his pajamas, a comical chef’s hat perched precariously on his head, stirring something in a pan while humming to himself. It was sometime before he felt her presence. Turning round with a sheepish grin, he said “Mac and cheese coming your way ma’am.”

 

Minisha returned to her desk shell shocked. Ashish in the kitchen! The man she had married would not have been able to tell a wok from a saucepan, leave aside cook anything. And that too macaroni. Ashish came from a joint family. A typical Bengali one at that. He was an only child. His mother and grandmother doted on him. His wish was their command. Every major meal in his home had at least two items of fish, a deep-fried vegetable and a sweet dish. For every occasion from birthdays to anniversaries, the proverbial payesh and pathar mangsho was cooked and sandesh and misti doi ordered. At first Manisha’s anglophile taste buds rebelled at all the spicy oily taste. A pungent aroma seemed to pervade her in-law’s house at all times. But soon Ashish and Minisha had relocated to Bangalore and Minisha had her own kitchen. Manisha’s culinary skills were more pan Indian, even global. She experimented with a variety of recipes often downloaded from the internet and Ashish was her loyal guinea pig. What Minisha did not master was the traditional Bengali cooking. Once in a while Ashish requested her to cook Bengali cuisine to which Minisha replied that he could gorge on them when they visited his parents in Kolkata once a year. Then Maloti had joined their household and Minisha had gratefully handed the reins of her kitchen to Maloti. So, it surprised Minisha no end today that Ashish was actually cooking and that too mac and cheese.

 

The days of lockdown glided by. Minisha and Ashish fell into a comfortable routine. While Minisha was an early riser, Ashish took this opportunity to laze in bed till the sun was way up in the sky. Ashish whose “work from home” schedule was less demanding usually prepared lunch and washed the utensils and kept the kitchen clean. Minisha completed the dusting, sweeping and swabbing in the early hours of the morning before she sat down at her computer. They washed their own clothes and did not bother about ironing any longer. Minisha usually made some tasty snack every evening, one of her many delectable recipes and supper was just fruit and cheese or a bowl of instant noodles if Ashish was hungry.

 

They spent the major part of the day out of each other’s way busy with their online office work or household chores. But every evening once the sun had set and the night was creeping up on a city that had been somnolent through the day, Minisha and Ashish would venture out onto their terrace garden nursing their favorite drink, a single malt for Ashish and a shot of vodka and lime for Minisha.

 

Minisha could not remember the last time they had sat together on the terrace like this. Yet, this had been a daily ritual in the early days of their marriage. At the end of a busy day at office they would unwind stretching out on the rocking chair or curled up on a cane chair out on the terrace garden. It was here that Minisha would vent her frustration at the office politics while Ashish tried to soothe her. It was here that Ashish spoke of his dreams and aspirations for the company he had founded with his best friend and college mate. It had been on the terrace garden that Minisha had informed Ashish about her pregnancy three years after their marriage. Ashish had been ecstatic. It had been here that minisha had sobbed with her face buried in Ashish’s chest after she had lost the baby in the third month of pregnancy.

 

The initial evenings during the lockdown when they sat out on the terrace, it had been awkward. Their conversations were strained and often in monosyllables. Some evenings they sat in total silence like strangers, each lost in his or her own thought. It was as if they had forgotten the art of conversation or at least conversation with each other. But with passage of time, the shared meals and sometimes shared chores during the day, the awkwardness had gradually melted away.

 

 Ashish told Minisha about the online fraud that taken place two years back which had cost his company dearly, almost driving them to the point of bankruptcy. He confided that he was worried about his best friend and business partner whose marriage seemed to be in troubled waters and who was increasingly turning to alcohol for solace. Ashish told her about the nodule that had appeared on his back which had needed a biopsy and how frightened he had been till the reports showed it to be benign. Minisha regaled ashish with her workplace gossip. About her 50 plus boss and her obsession with Botox, about the young intern who was so enamored with Minisha that he always stuttered in her presence, about the junior content writers who were always in a vicious competition to get into the boss’ good books. Minisha confided that after losing the baby and learning that it was risky to conceive again, she had considered adoption. But then she had abandoned the thought and concentrated on her career instead.

 

Much of their conversation was also about old times. Forgotten anecdotes from the time they were dating. Long buried memories from the early days of their marriage. A nearly erased snippet from the crevices of their subconscious mind. They giggled over memories of their youthful escapades. They sighed over the more painful ones. They shared and they remembered, and they slowly lifted the dust covers off their souls.

 

And every night after dinner they retired to their own separate bedrooms as they had been doing over the past three years. But Minisha and Ashish both knew that this too would change. It was just a matter of time. Neither of them wanted to rush what they knew was inevitable.

 

It was the third month of lockdown. Though the nightmare was by no means over, the preparedness to deal with it was in place. Slowly life began to limp back to normal. Medical facilities with restrictions in place began to function. Some offices opened with 33% attendance. Private cars began to ply following the government advisories.

 

That evening it began to rain. At first just a gentle drizzle. Then the heavens opened up and fat drops of rain splattered on the earth below. Minisha had always loved the rains. The smell of the fresh earth that rose when the first drops fell on it was intoxicating. There was rhythm in the falling rain, now gentle, now harsh. Building up to a crescendo and dying down again. Throwing caution to the wind, she rushed out onto the terrace, arms raised, face upturned, laughing with wild abandon. Ashish watched his wife with amusement. He had not seen her like this in a very long time. This was the girl he had married, vibrant and spontaneous, a force of nature. But somewhere in the day to day rigors of domesticity the girl had metamorphosized into a woman, sober and guarded, burdened by her many ambitions and responsibilities.

 

Finally, Ashish had to pull Minisha off the terrace and send her in to dry herself. She would catch her death he warned. Minisha took a long leisurely hot bath. She dabbed a generous amount of perfume, a subtle smell of wildflowers that had been a gift from Ashish on their last anniversary. Then from the back of her closet, hidden below a pile of shirts and t-shirts she pulled out a night shirt, the one printed with miniature palm trees. She had picked it up from a stall on the beach during their honeymoon at Goa. It was oversized and did nothing to complement her curvaceous figure. Yet, Ashish had claimed it made her look sexy. He had described it as an absolute turn on.

 

When Minisha stepped into the drawing room, Ashish was pouring himself a drink. He felt her presence even before he saw her. Ashish turned around to ask if Minisha would join him for a night cap and caught his breath. Minisha looked a vision. Her hair was damp and slicked back from her forehead. Moisture still clung to her skin. Her face glowed with health and something else. Her long dark lashes were half lowered provocatively over her eyes. Her moist lips were parted in a shy smile. And that misshapen night shirt clung to the right contours of her body.

 

Ashish felt heat suffix his body. His throat felt parched and he had to gulp a few times before he could clear it. Even so he could find no words as he stood mesmerized, a mere flesh and blood man in presence of a deity. Minisha watched Ashish’s transformation. A slow flush crept up his neck. He gulped a few times. His eyes glazed over. His smiling easy-going expression was replaced with a look of intense desire. Like a man in a trance he held out his hand to her. With a tiny smile of triumph Minisha took a step towards Ashish and then the phone rang.

 

The sound was shrill and harsh, at once demanding and urgent. Its persistent note shattered the magic of the moment. The sound felt like a knife slicing through the palpable passion that hung thick in the room. Ashish picked up the phone. It was his friend and business partner informing him that they could open their office the next day. He had just received the government notification. For a brief while they discussed how to go about it, who all to call to office, what would be the agenda the first few days, how still to maintain safety and social distancing.

 

When Ashish finally wrapped up the conversation and turned around, his countenance was clear. His eyes had a faraway look. He was already visualizing the day to come. For a few seconds he did not seem to notice Minisha and when he did, Ashish gave her an embarrassed smile. 

 

“We are opening the office tomorrow”, Ashish offered by way of explanation. There was an awkward pause. “I guess your office will reopen soon too”

 

“I guess so” Minisha replied. She had regained her composure. The moment had passed. Whatever emotion has sizzled between them briefly had been snuffed out. It would not be explored.

 

“I shall call it a night”, Ashish said “I have an early start tomorrow”. He turned around and made his way to his bedroom, already preoccupied with plans for the morrow.

 

“Goodnight” Minisha called after him. As she returned to her bedroom, Minisha smiled to herself. This had been a nice romantic interlude in the time of lockdown. Tomorrow life would be normal once more.