She came, whiffing of that elusive perfume. He had searched for that fragrance in vain, at stores he knew she shopped, on his mother’s dressing table. It still eluded him. An elegant swish of her dupatta as she sat down.

“Why always the salwar kameez ?”

“I’m not comfortable with jeans”

…their favourate argument at a different time. Now however both wore a veneer of distant friendship, past ties notwithstanding.

“It’s good to see you”

“Same here. One year’s a long time”

To forget, yes but apparently not enough time to forgive.

She spoke of her life, of how she juggled home and work after her mother’s illness. Over coffee reminiscences occurred. Then he spoke of his life in the new world, of loneliness and new friends. Of his job and the bitter cold. Of the ease of American life and the glitter. Of magnificent cities and his longing for Indian food.

“So you have to cook now? No amma in America? Paavam you”

Sarcastic but friendly, he admired the way she jabbed with a smile, drawing blood always. Flashes of times they had together. Always food, the focus. Cooking together, shopping for groceries, more exotic with every meeting. Relaxing on her low divan, sighing after an exceptionally tasty meal. Together in their exhaustion of having had oversweet payasam, in their fiery exultations after a spicy meal.

“So hows the weather nowadays?” Lunging for neutral ground.

“The rain is as thick as the masiyal I make, the sun as scorching as that thokku you liked”


She continued ignoring him. You were always too flexible, she thought. Naïve. Someone serves you beef stroganoff and you lap it up. Typical immigrant attitude. Too much change in you. I hope….

“I’m thinking of calling the gang over for lunch. This Sunday. You don’t have to come early to help, just be there on time.”


“I will see you then, you take care”

She got up to leave. Adjusted her dupatta, and left. He noted with a smile she hadn’t offered to pay for her meal. She hadn’t changed at all. He would go on Sunday, just in time for lunch though.



Filed under food, friends, girl, life, love

24 responses to “Love

  1. sthitapragnya

    Ayyo paavam you (him)! It’s ok ma, you(he) find someone else!

  2. buddy

    how dare you insinuate that its me!

  3. maami

    Nice and enigmatic.

  4. buddy

    thanks maami 🙂

  5. sthitapragnya

    wasn’t it u? Oops! 😛 Saari! then I take my words back! BTW, very intense love, this!

  6. Liberal

    Really nice work…did not know u like this genre that much!

  7. buddy

    sorta inspired by you boss!

  8. padmaja

    very very nice… 🙂

  9. aandthirtyeights

    Love is such a wonderful subject!

  10. varali

    Love and food. Why do they go so well together?

  11. swatimala

    whis is this inspired 4m if not u?

  12. chocoliciousgal

    which do u prefer though love or food 😉 wait I thnk I already know the answer to this one :D…but seriously well written very deep like I said 🙂

  13. Coconut Chutney

    This post is as good as the puliyodharai my mom made last week. Very nice. 😀

  14. Madhuri

    very nicely written. i had quite a few flashbacks while reading this 🙂

  15. buddy

    @ aand: aaah…sighs wishfully@varali: nice combination no?@swatimala: ask no questions and u’ll be told no lies@divs: heheheh…u know!@lavanya: last week a? aiyyo! thanks :)@madhuri: thank you…were u the gal in your flashbacks? or was it the other way round?

  16. Elusive

    sweet, poignant, reminscent, bitter, disturbing, vindictive, helpless…very real!!superb write!

  17. Idling in Top Gear

    Nice. Captures the innate ability girls have when it comes to agonizing guys.

  18. buddy

    @ elusive: thanks!@ idling: hahaha…have any pointers on how to deal with it?

  19. maxdavinci

    why does it appear to me as if it was a personal exp?LOL, fun to read…

  20. buddy

    vendam….thanks 🙂

  21. crumpledpapers

    and thus the search for a perfect Iyer girl continues, oh wait, hasn’t it paused?but seriously… its brilliant… and nostalgic!! God bless her too…

  22. Historiophile

    beautifully expressed..I liked the way you used local cultural idioms in your expressions “The rain is as thick as the masiyal I make, the sun as scorching as that thokku you liked”

  23. Ojas

    nyc expressions..but on love, u can be far more positive !it soothes far more than it hurts !after all.. everythingz relative !visit my blog, sum day !

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