The Khichdi

"I am making a Khichdi
with lentils."
She says.

I don't like them much
but i dont say a thing.

Her swift cuts
chop the onion
into pieces
and a few silent tears
roll down her cheeks
onion just seems
like a reason

Tomato is shredded
chillies are sliced
poatato too
gives in....
to the blade...
in her hand
maybe he knows
that she'd...
mourn for him
later...

Rice is transferred
to the steel trough
then washed under the tap
like a kid....
returned from...
a mischievious trail
rinsed...ruffled
like son's
front locks

The trough clinging
to her fingers
beseats itself
in
the cooker's hollow.

Then go in
all the spices
tasetless
they are
till her fingers
hold them.....
sprinkled
the way
clouds wet
the lands
barren and tired
with rains....

The Salt follows
with a contentment
after having waited long
for her to pick up
a pinch
out of him.

And then
on her command
jump into
the cavity
the pieces of
potato, tomato
and onion
like obidient soldiers
of a loving general.

A spatula churns them
ready to go
to any depths
for her.

The cooker is closed
and a whistle is placed
on it's outlet
with a gentle pat
on the lid...
warning it
to behave itself
when she
won't be around....
till he blows
a whistle for her
to know what
has cooked inside
his heart.

The hands are washed
plates arranged
with glasses and bowls
to surround them

Cooker blows out
a loud whistle
steam all around
like an outburst.

She comes to him
to console...
and lets him vent
it all out

her personal little
servant holder
pulls out the trough
off the cooker......
like a tumor from
a painful enclosure.

The contents are mixed
religiously
and served
like an offering
to a god....

Till then I just keep
looking at her
following her.
Amazed. Bedazzled....
Bewitched. Mersmerised.
Hypnosis......
The Science
has a name for it.

"Eat...what are you waiting for?"

I consume
the first morsel...

I give up
my disliking
for the lentils
then on...