There was confusion in the eyes of the seven year old Surangi as they dipped mango leaves into the sandal-turmeric paste to anoint her. She did not know what marriage meant, she was just told that she would move into a new home in a village far away...
"Did the drink live up to your expectations?" Madhav asked.
Watching her enjoy her first cup of coffee was indeed fascinating. Each time she put the cup to her lip she sniffed the aroma deeply, took a tiny sip and let the taste of the brew linger on her palate, taking time to swallow.
"Yes, I enjoyed it very much. The flavour is quite exhilarating! I can see why the Europeans like drinking it!" It did not take Surangi long to decide that the taste of coffee was far more exotic compared to tea.
"That is true, but coffee is actually native to Africa while tea originated in China. Europeans made these drinks global because they traded in them, making a tidy profit. You must come along with me to the Dadar-Matunga neighbourhood someday. Dinkar's maternal cousin Trimbak is training to be a mechanical engineer at the Victoria Jubilee Technical Institute. Dinkar and I often take a suburban train whenever we visit him. Matunga is the stronghold of the Tamil community, you could actually mistake it for Madras. If you stroll along the Matunga parks and gardens and through the bylanes on a late afternoon you can smell the heady aroma of green coffee beans being slow roasted till they turn a shade of rich brown. After being crushed they are then brewed with hot water in a brass contraption, filtered and combined with steamed milk and sugar in a set of brass tumblers. Street vendors skillfully pour the yard long coffee between the two tumblers until the frothy drink is ready to enjoy." Madhav was literally reliving the experience with the visual imagery he had just created for Surangi' s benefit.
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"That sounds exciting. Yes, I'd love to see mini-Madras whenever you have the time." Surangi made a mental note of the places she wanted to visit with Madhav.
"The Tamil women can be seen shopping in the bazaar dressed in Kancheepuram silk sarees. They wear strands of jasmine in their hair and wear glittering diamond nose pins in both their nostrils." Madhav observed, as he paid for the refreshments and led Surangi outside the café.
"Should we hail a cab or would you rather walk?" He enquired.
"We should walk. We need the exercise after partaking so many sugary things!" Surangi muttered. She could hardly tell Madhav that she wanted to stretch their date as much as was possible. Walking meant spending more alone time with her husband.
"I have done most of the talking so far. It is your turn now. You must be missing the village and all your friends. Maybe you could write letters home during the week." He suggested.
"Oh, I miss our home terribly, particularly Khandu. You don't even know who that is. Khandu is our water buffalo calf. He is a month and a half old and I am very attached to him. Every day when I return from school I visit him in the shed. The moment he spots me he gets excited, wanting to be let loose so that he can explore the garden and orchard by himself. I try to stay close, watching him nibble on the tender shoots and leaves. He likes to linger by the old well and snack on the moss growing on the wall. And he refuses to return to the shed, squatting on the ground and stubbornly refusing to budge. When the cattle return from the pond in the evening he runs back to his mother, hungry for her milk. If you leave him alone he can drain her udders dry and there is none left for the pail." Surangi spoke about the little calf with the tenderness of a caregiver.
