Bhabra

20. normal

She had forgotten to lock the door before preparing to knead the clay, something her teenage self always made sure of. Madhu hated people seeing her getting messy, even when it was for the sake of art. Especially when it was for the sake of art. 

It didn't help that Nakul was looking as if he was fresh out of a commercial, complete with his all black outfit. He crouched down till he was at level with her, face merely inches away from hers. "Do you need help with that?"

It took all of Madhu's self-control to not stumble on her words as she quipped, "Depends. Can you knead something heavier than an entire sack of flour in one go?"

"I think I can manage."

"And," she continued. "This is not going to end up in burnt, misshapen paranthas. It has to be perfect and pebble free."

His mouth curled up. "Are you making fun of my cooking skills Miss Thakur?"

"Why yes I am."

"Well," he said, sitting down cross-legged in front of her and folding his sleeves till his elbows. "I suppose I would do a better job than someone who can't make anything apart from instant noodles."

He took the rolling pin, motioning for her to scoot away. She returned to her previously vacant stool, smoothing the half-made sculpture and detailing the toes and anklets of the statue using sculpting knives and styluses.

Regardless of what he had claimed, Nakul couldn't really knead the entire mound at once. Instead, he broke it into four smaller parts, but Madhu didn't point that out.

With him providing little chunks of readied clay, Madhu slowly attached the clay to the idol's hip, going up and shaping its waist and torso. After a couple of hours, she heard shuffling behind her as Nakul got up from the ground, coming around and occupying the stool next to her.

Madhu had expected him to go back to the study after he was finished, but he simply watched her. While her sculpting teacher had also sometimes stayed next to her to observe her technique, she had a feeling that Nakul's reasons were different.

"What?" she questioned eventually, too on edge to work with him beside her.

"Nothing it's just, I never pegged you as a person interested in art, even when we were kids."

Madhulika knew what he meant. Her mother had tried every method in the book to get Madhu interested in painting. Even going as far as painting her room's ceiling. But the seven-year-old never so much as touched a brush until years later.

"It's a silly story really. This guy I liked in eighth grade opted for a sculpting extracurricular class in school. I wanted to take up dance because all my friends were there, but I ended up changing my mind. Couldn't really get the guy to even glance at me but I fell in love with this in the process," she said, referring to the murti. "Ma was happy."

"Man he must've been an idiot." Madhu's heart skipped a beat at his casual tone. Thankfully, he didn't notice her expression. "But I'm glad you re-picked sculpting. Your mom would've been proud today too."

"You don't know that," she muttered. "I've done a lot of stupid shit these last years."

"True. But since you've come here, all I see is a person doing her best to help people around her."

Madhu bit her cheek. That was the perfect moment to tell him. She wanted to correct his presumption, clarify that all her actions were nothing but compensation. That she would sell her land and with it, the futures of everyone dependent on it. But something clamped down her throat, trapping the truth in.