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Distance doesn't always make the heart grow fonder. My husband is in the Indian Army. I had a vague idea of what I was getting into when I got married to him, but had romantic notions of running into his arms at the airport or railway station, each time he would come home from his field location. But the first time he went out to the field for 2 weeks, left me craving for him to get back home as soon as possible. I used to enjoy staying on my own earlier during my single days, but now I don't like being alone. It is too quiet, disconcerting. Ever since my husband left, I felt uncomfortable being on my own.
He came back and in less than a week, he had to go again today... this time for a little over a month and to a place where there is no mobile network coverage. The last 5 days seemed as if we were living on borrowed time. Each minute was precious... especially, in the last 24 hours. We were trying to spend maximum time together, getting pending tasks completed in the midst of his work and my ladies' meet and family welfare programmes. We managed to watch a movie together, dined out, went out shopping and even opened up a joint account. Last night we hardly slept for a couple of hours. I helped him pack his bags, reminding him of the small knick-knacks that I knew he would miss out on if I didn't, that he would be needing to stay out for a month.
Early morning today the vehicle reached and as the 'batman' (or 'buddy' as my husband calls him) rang the doorbell and started loading husband's bags into the vehicle while I made breakfast and he got dressed, my heart started growing heavy. After breakfast as husband gave me a big hug and a goodbye kiss, proceeding towards the vehicle, the jawans stood there saluting and opening the vehicle door for him, cheering loudly JAI HIND, SAAB (may the victory be India's, sir), I felt very proud to be married to a man of such honour. But as I waved him goodbye and saw the vehicle soon getting away out of sight, my heart was filled with a sudden loneliness... as if it was going to swallow me up.
The house suddenly seemed so huge and empty again. Every nook and corner of the house seemed to remind me of him somehow or the other. The civilian t-shirt and track-pants that he wore last and had left for washing... his safety boots on the shoe-rack... our joint-photo framed on the bedside table...
I took out our wedding album and slowly looked at all our wedding snaps all over again. I burried my face into his still warm t-shirt and just couldn't fight back my tears. Quickly I brushed off the tears from my eyes that was streaming down both my cheeks, remembering that an army wife must never cry when her husband leaves.
Maybe distance does make the heart grow fonder, after all...
A major chunk of my single life saw me feeding on my home-made instant noodles, pasta in white sauce, pizzas, ham sandwiches or an occassional whole meal when I felt that craving for rice (which all rice-eaters from north-east do, once in a while). I knew how to cook whole meals, but the effort to cook for a single person was just not worth it. So, I had never had the need to practically cook proper meals all the time...except for those occassional times when we friends would get together for those special lunches and dinners.
Whenever I used to visit home, ma used to pamper me with all my favourite things to eat. I never had to cook while at home 'cause dad is an even better cook than ma. Back in Delhi, my workplace used to provide both lunch and dinner, so eventually over all these years, I always took cooking for granted, though I love eating.
When I quit my job 2 months before my marriage, the prime aim was to go home and learn some cooking from my mother. My husband-to-be was quite picky about food, I discovered, and he had a great taste in the things that he chose to eat. The brilliant cooks at the army officers' mess had literally spoilt them with an overdose of 5-star rated food. But then, things never work out exactly like we plan... well, not always. The time just before one gets married is usually a time when everyone is busy pampering the bride-to-be. So, not to mention my ma not letting me enter the kitchen (lest I should burn my hands or cut my fingers just before the d-day), also practically each day there was an invitation from our neighbours, friends or relatives, right upto a week before the wedding day. So, my plan to learn cooking from my mother went kaput. After our wedding, the in-law's kitchen was actually not a good place to experiment my culinary skills. My husband hails from the south and their taste of food is quite different from ours. So, just like a good daughter-in-law should, I decided to stand there, assisting my ma-in-law with chopping of vegetables or making tea or helping her open a certain jar for condiments...in short just watched and learnt some new dishes which were easy to make and suited both mine and hubby's taste-buds.
After we reached Jammu (where my husband and I are based right now), both of us started eating at the officers' mess until our kitchen was set. As a part of the welcoming ceremony, I was asked to make the first meal for 10 odd officers and their families...'assamese dishes'. I made my husband very proud by cooking a delicious 3-course assamese meal for all. Everybody was quite impressed. I was quite happy myself at how things had turned out to be. But suddenly everthing changed when I first started cooking at our own kitchen... the meal I cooked turned out to be horrible. The rice was overcooked, the dal was still hard and settled at the bottom while water gathering on the top with very less salt and too much of turmeric, the vegetable dish had lots of salt and got slightly burnt...the only saviour was the naga-style zero-oil chicken (learnt from my naga friend). I just didn't know what had gone wrong... if it was the result of trying so hard to cook a very good meal for my husband or the fact that everything was so new and unfamiliar in the new kitchen. But the fact remained that when I lay that horrible food on the dining table that fateful noon for lunch, tears rolled down my cheeks. I felt so sorry that the first meal I had cooked for my husband at home had to turn out this way. Nonetheless, hubby ate the food without a word...just enough to satisfy his hunger. I knew the food was bad... even I couldn't eat it. But he just wouldn't utter a word of complaint. The next meal was no better either. Hubby still didn't complain....just ate lesser and lesser. He would just make an excuse that he wasn't so fond of that vegetable or that particular dal just didn't suit his stomach. After two days and four meals, I started getting a hang of things. I began concentrating more on what I was cooking and how I was cooking them. The permutations, combinations, a few last-minute tips from ma & ma-in-law and my natural feminine instincts too, made the taste of things improve. I started introducing assamese dishes to my husband's palate and noticed him going in for second helpings. He started enjoying the meals at home and looked forward to eating at home more than eating outside. An occassional "Can you make that sour fish curry today?" or "assamese brinjal mash"(bengena pura) or "that zero-oil chicken" were so relieving to hear. I knew I was on the right track. There was no looking back after then. I started reading and following recipes from magazines (thank you FEMINA and GOOD HOUSEKEEPING) and from the internet.
Today after 2 months of tried and tested experiments, I can proudly claim that I can cook nice whole meals and entertain atleast 20 people at a time with ease, besides rustling up hubby's favourites in a jiffy. And then ofcourse, I can always pick up the phone and ask my ma & ma-in-law for those special tips which comes with their years of experience. Those two numbers are now on my speed-dial list.
