I love my life. Well, how many people do you know who can say this and mean it? Well, that’s something you need to ponder upon. I have seen humans complaining and cribbing about their life all the time. I watched teenagers would scoop out the deliciousness from a jar of Nutella and then lament over their expanding waistlines. I was an ordinary glass bottle; I don’t quite remember what they filled me with prior to this.
My consciousness got a jumpstart when I found myself in a pan of scorching water. The lady of the house was watching over me. That was the first time that I saw her. She was poking me with a wooden ladle and looking over the pan. Shock, surprise and anger hit me as I looked up at her. When I saw her calm, sweet, wrinkled face all the negative emotions melted in the scalding water.
She removed me from the water and placed me on a sheet of paper to dry in the sun. She was singing bhajans (songs of praise) while working in the kitchen. I watched her stirring something in an enormous pot. The scene was like that of the witch in Hansel and Gretal bending over a gigantic cauldron and adding some magical herbs while saying spells. But this situation seemed different in more ways than one.
First, she didn’t look like a witch and second; I was getting loads of positive vibes from her. I remember watching her from the kitchen shelf as she lovingly prepared the oil one afternoon. She was about 75 years old or maybe a hundred – I don’t really know. Her beautiful face was full of wrinkles and she walked with a signature limp that most North Indian aunties walk with. Her health wasn’t very great, but she tirelessly worked in the kitchen every single day.
God had blessed her home with a kitchen that was the centre point of nutrition. Every single day a mix of wonderful aromas would emanate from the kitchen. Meal times were a feast, each time. During the meal, the lady of the house would lovingly serve the meals she cooked and then sweetly ask what the family would like to eat for the next meal.
She was speaking to a young lady while stirring the pot. She told her that this was a secret recipe for a massage oil passed down from many generations. She said that it had magical healing properties. From their talks, I could make out that the young lady had just undergone a surgery. I wasn’t quiet clear on what the surgery she underwent, but she was on bedrest. The old lady pampered her with nutritious food and lots of pep talk. Both her husband and she spent long hours with her narrating lots of stories and sharing their experiences.
The young lady had 2 wonderful kids who adored their grandmother and grandfather. Her husband was a loving man who seemed worried about his wife’s health. The atmosphere in the house however didn’t seem like someone was ill. They used to joke and laugh all the time. Watch movies and web series together, play board games and have lots of fun as a family.
Coming back to my story. Once the magical massage oil was ready, she left it to cool and then strained it carefully. She then hobbled to the young lady’s room. She slowly sat on the bed at the young woman’s feet. Out of respect, the young woman, sat up and moved her legs away from the old lady.
The old lady asked her to relax and lie down. After this, she unscrewed the cap on my head and scooped out some oil. She started massaging the young lady’s tired legs. Despite protests, she continued massaging her legs and feet. While doing so, she narrated stories and sang beautiful bhajans to soothe the young lady’s ailing nerves. In no time, the young lady dozed off to sleep.
The young lady’s husband entered while the old lady was slowly limping her way out of the room. He opened his mouth to say something, and she shushed him saying,
“Shh…bahu so rahi hai! Awaaz mat kar!” (My daughter-in-law is sleeping, don’t make noise!)
It shocked me! All this trouble for a daughter-in-law? Huh? Was this even real?
Like I said in the beginning of this story, my I love my life. Now you know why.
©MayuraAmarkant. This is an original work of fiction written by Mayura Amarkant. Any resemblance to a person living or dead is purely coincidental. This article – in whole or in part CANNOT be used by any platform without prior permission from the author. This article is the property of DiaryOfAnInsaneWriter. Any unauthorized use or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Mayura Amarkant (DiaryOfAnInsaneWriter). With the right and specific direction to the original content. This is NOT a sponsored post.
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