As Shila was preparing to wash the vegetables, she was planning to cook in a new way today. A few days ago, in the ‘Women’s Corner’ of the ‘Aaja’ newspaper, an article had been published about cuisines and a new recipe was floating in her head. Accordingly, on one side of the plate, she had stacked the diced onions, and on the other, she neatly portioned all the other necessary ingredients.

 She had already brought extra oil and spices from Sasa-Maa, her mother-in-law. Sasa-Maa, without saying anything, eyeballed the ingredients and handed it to Shila. She had then carefully placed the oil, garam masala, turmeric within her arm’s reach and continued to sift the vegetables.

Once the fire was lit, Shila placed the pot on the stove. But when she stood to fetch some water to rinse the vegetables, her leg somehow hit the oil jar and spilled the oil. She trembled at the sight; her cheeks blushed in fear. She was suddenly angry with herself.

Earlier, she had thought that the new recipe would appease Sasa-Baa, her father-in-law, and he would remark positively on her cooking, and request for more of the special dish. But now, all her hopes spilled with the oil.

How could she ask for more oil? Shila did not have an easy-going mother-in-law. Whenever she asked for something, Shila received obtuse remarks or gestures from Sasa-Maa. Shila knew well what Sasa-Maa would say if she went to ask for oil again.

Only a few days ago, Sasa-Baa had asked her to bring some tea for a visitor. But how could she have served only one cup of tea? Sasa-Baa also needed to be served, along with the guest. So she prepared two cups.

She had to go ask Sasa-Maa for a little bit of extra sugar. Alas, the things Shila had to hear!

“That day nothing was lost or spilled, yet what a sour face she had made! To ensure that there was enough sugar for the guest, I drank tea without any sugar,” Shila said to herself as memories of her childhood danced in her mind. Her past cruelly teased the limitations of her present. As she slowly looked at the oil jar, she could not decide if to cook the vegetables, or to just make do with the lentils.

“I will cross that bridge when I get there,” Shila thought and sautéed the vegetables with what little oil was left in the jar. There was little to be done, still she worked hard. She grinded the mustard seeds to add to the vegetables. At a distance, she could hear Sasa-Maa listening to the Bhagavad Gita on the radio.

As she stirred the vegetables, she mused about the difference between her mother and her mother-in-law. Her mind spoke without invitation:  “Your in-law’s house is not like your parents’ home. Nobody is happy if you are not working. Even when you are working the entire day, there is nobody to come and give you some relief. And, if you make a mistake while working, what choice is there other than to suffer through the wrath of the in-laws? So much angst for spilling a little bit of oil! If the dish should go wrong, what will they say, what will they do? My mother would have been so happy if I did just a little bit of work. If the oil had spilled at my mother’s kitchen, I could have fetched some more myself. Here, there is not a pinch of salt or a few pieces of chilies in my own hands. If I told my mother that I spilled oil in her kitchen, she would only say that I was clumsy. Here I have to wait to get just a pinch of salt. I have to make every decision in fear. No matter how cautious I am––” she stirred the vegetables again, lost in her own contemplations. “What if Sasa-Baa tosses the food like the last time he didn’t like my cooking! I had just gone downstairs to quickly bring the clothes inside, but by the time I returned, the food was already burnt to a crisp! Nobody ate! Everybody was angry. I also did not eat, instead I fed the dog. They filled their appetite by scolding me! Since nobody ate, how could I have eaten? If I ate, they would yell at me, if I didn’t, they’d still yell at me. What if they behave the same today?” She became frightened by her own imagination. She repeatedly stirred and observed the vegetables, thinking its colour seemed a little off. How could she serve such a dish? She felt like running downstairs to hide.

Soon, it was time for dinner. First, Sasa-Baa, then her husband came upstairs. Her heart almost seized in fright. When Sasa-Baa began to serve the rice, she put the vegetables in a small bowl and served it in fear. How will they react when they take a bite? Her heart began to tremble. “What will happen now,” she thought, but the diners ate without any fuss. “Today’s vegetables are a little bit different,” Sasa-Baa remarked after the first bite.

Shila froze in terror.

Sasa-Baa was saying, “Today’s vegetable is tastier than yesterday.” But Shila’s cheeks turned red, assuming that she was being accused. She feared that the news of her little fiasco in the kitchen would spread throughout the neighbourhood. “Everyone will think that I, struck by fear, cooked without any oil. Why didn’t I ask for more oil? I should have asked. She would have scolded me once, but that would have been the end of the matter. They would not have spread the news of my misconduct––” And just then Sasa-Baa said, “Give me a little bit more of that vegetable.” Her breath finally returned! The food wasn’t bad after all.

The two men ate and left. Then Sasa-Maa came upstairs and Shila served her as well. She was no longer scared but she remained shaken. Strangely enough, even Sasa-Maa refrained from making a comment.

Was the food really good? Nobody was in the kitchen, so Shila tasted a little bit directly from the pot. As Shila made the motion of putting the food in her mouth, Sasa-Maa suddenly appeared at the doorway. She stared at Shila bemused.

Next day, even from a distance, Shila could hear the women at the Hiti, “Did you hear, Maila’s daughter-in-law, Shila, dared to eat directly from the pot!”

(Translated by: Sandesh Ghimire)