Pumpkin Pie

The morning light was bright outside. She knew it, but could not see it. The warmth of the sun crept through the walls, she could feel it. From the corner of the room where she had been sitting crouched for the last hours, all she could see was a small patch of the floor.

No, no, do not get ahead of yourself. She is not hurt, at least there are no marks of injury on her body. Sharbari was not one to take any blows lying down. Just now as she was sitting in the corner of this dark room, she remembered the time in school when a much older boy had pushed her off the swing. It was another summer day, far away from here. She was in the school park, in Kolkata. She was playing with her friends, taking turns to get on the swing. Suddenly this boy came and asked her to get off. She refused, telling him he needed to wait in line like the rest of the children. This did not go down well with him and he pushed her off. What would typically ensue would be the small six-year-old girl crying with sand on her face, while the ten-year-old smirked away. However, the six-year-old Sharbari threw sand into his face and jumped at him, flinging her tiny wrists at his face. While most of the efforts were in vain, a few punches landed and the boy was left quite sorry faced. More than the blows, what hurt him was the little girl hitting him. The child’s parents complained, Sharbari’s parents were called to school and rebuked for “lack of able guidance”. No one listened to little Sharbari when she tried explaining what happened. No one believed her, including her parents. She had to write an apology letter in scrawny handwriting, confessing that it was completely her wrongdoing. The boy who had pushed her off, emerged from the Principal’s office unscathed. She was branded as a problem child. But she was happy, no matter what anyone said, she had got in a punch when she wanted and no one could take that away from her. Her friends who had been at the playground that day applauded her daring act and she knew it was not all useless.

So she would frequently get into trouble. Sometimes just to see if her parents would ever take her side, but they never did. Now as she sat in the dark room on a summer morning, she remembered that day and wondered if she was braver as a child. She wondered if anything had changed. This day was different, so much different from that. Last night Arindam and she had a fight, again. Off late, their arguments had increased. He recently got tenure at University and would be teaching Mathematics full time. This would mean longer hours away from home, or at least away from Sharbari for sure. Even when he was at home, it did not feel like he was there. He was holed up in his study. Not that she was complaining.

Arindam and she were married a year ago. Much against her parent’s wishes.

Will you be happy so far away from home, they said. When did I ever spend time at home, she thought.

Arindam and she met at an art exhibition, where he had visited with his ex-girlfriend. She was an amateur artist whose work was displayed and received quite a few accolades. While she was there front and center, he stood in a corner sulking over his wine. At that time Sharbari found him brooding and mysterious, when he was in fact just being petty and jealous. She should have known then. But love is a heady intoxication which brings you temporary bliss. In two months, the artist was forgotten and Sharbari was the muse for the young Mathematics genius. In little less than a year she was so swept off her feet that she married him and moved to the US. Here in a suburban University town, she was the better half of Professor Dutta, the lady who makes amazing mutton korma and kheer.

She knows the few people her Professor husband introduced her to.

The neighbours are not too friendly. Take today morning for instance! After breakfast, she was working in the garden. She waved to the lady across the picket fence, who scowled back, her red hair flying across her freckled face. As if she was annoyed that Sharbari was breathing the same air as her. But to Sharbari it felt like just beyond the fence was a person she could befriend. So later in the day when her husband was off at the University brightening young minds, she decided to go up to her future friend bearing gifts. She put herself dedicatedly to making a pumpkin pie. She was always good at baking and had made a cookies and brownies in her oven back at home. But here things were different. The temperatures would always be called out in Fahrenheit for example. The first few attempts at baking ended up in burnt dough. She took some time getting used to it. While she was a master at making kheer and halwa, pies were not her strong suit. But then again, when in Rome, she thought and went about looking at the recipe to make the pie. She went out armed with a list, neatly written out on a piece of paper. She walked to the nearest grocery store which was a couple of miles away from home. On weekends Arindam would take her there for the weekly supplies. But if she would try to explore the baking section, he would frown at the unnecessary expenditure she was always indulging in. So she took out the few notes from her pocket money which he would allot her every month. But since she never really went anywhere they had gotten collected to be a bunch of notes which lied unused in the closet.

As she walked to the store, the roads were empty, even in the shop there were hardly any people. It was a working day after all, everyone would be busy at work. She fondly recalled when she would also be rushing to work every morning and catching coffee breaks with her work friends around this time. This lonely walk was so different from back home. For starters, there would be at least a few people stopping her on the way to exchange pleasantries. At that time, Sharbari disliked them, now she missed them. If she would tell Arindam, he would laugh.

“Isn’t this what you escaped, the over-social people, the crowds?”, he would say stroking her arm, as if he was talking to a pet.

As she walked through the well-stocked aisles and picked up whatever she wanted, she felt free. No one was breathing down her neck remarking about whether this was really needed, and whether that could be replaced from something at home. She picked up the ingredients she needed and headed back home. This was a recipe she was trying out for the first time, so she wanted to be meticulous. Alone at home, she put on some music and followed the pumpkin pie recipe to the T. While she was not a master of this dish yet, she was confident that as long as she diligently followed the recipe, the outcome would be good. Afterall, she was preparing this for the neighbors and they would surely appreciate the pains she was taking. She could already imagine her and the red haired woman laughing about the mistakes she had made. She would probably get some helpful tips as well. She could already imagine them enjoying a relaxed cup of tea in the backyard in the twilight. Just like magic, a couple of hours later the entire house was filled with the aroma of freshly baked pie. Armed with her gift, she headed over to the neighbour’s house. The red-haired lady opened the door cautiously. Sharbari could only see one green eye from the slim crack of the door which she had opened. Sharbari could also see her thickset husband in the background and she was pretty sure he was carrying a gun.

Understanding that her presence was not welcome, she left the pie at the doorway and got back home. She kept ruminating over what just happened. It did not sit well with her and she waited for Arindam to get back. Did she intrude upon an ongoing quarrel? Or are they just generally unpleasant people? She was restless through the day. Once Arindam is back she would tell him all about it, how rude the people next door were, how she was perfectly capable of going to the grocery store herself, and how she has mastered yet another recipe. To her delight, he returned earlier than usual.

As she heard him park in the driveway, she rushed downstairs to greet him at the door. But before she could get there he has already entered and threw his keys on the table. Without looking up he said, “Have you completely lost it Ira?”

She was taken aback at this and walked towards him with the same enthusiasm she had and put her arms around his neck. He pushed her away and looked directly into her eye. He was livid.

“What happened?” she started in a small voice.

“What happened? Are you seriously asking me that after trespassing into our neighbour’s?”

Sharbari, or Ira as everyone called her, did not know what to make of this. She was surely not trespassing and even Arindam knew that.

But she again felt like that six year old girl in the Principal’s office. Just like that day, she was barely listening. She was aghast that her loved ones would not even check once on her side of the story. She came to her senses when she felt someone physically shaking her.

“Stop dreaming Ira, this is not India that you can just walk up to people’s home uninvited to chitchat”

There was more. The pocket money had to be stopped, she needed to understand and learn the way of living in civilized society, she was just stupid, maybe some CCTV cameras need to be installed at home, what a headache she is, this marriage was a mistake.

After a while, he stormed off from the house, the door slammed on her face. That was last night, now she sat looking at the slant of a sun ray falling on a small patch of the floor which was the only thing in her vision. She looked intently at the dust dancing in that thin strip of light. Should she stay in the dark  and cool corner just looking at the dust or go out into the sun, burning bright into her eyes. She thought and thought.