It's the thought that counts...

August 20, 3.30pm 

I'm in the kitchen, about to make myself a cup of hot coffee. My husband had recently bought this new protein coffee and I wanted to try it. Taking out a scoop of the powder, I put it in a glass of cold milk. The powder refuses to dissolve and stays floating atop the milk. Even though the 'directions' mention a quick stir to combine the powder with the liquid, I'm still tired from all the lunch-making chores so I simply skip the step and chuck the glass into the oven. I am pretty confident that the oven will do the job for me.

 

A second ago, I was just feeling lazy but now I also feel super-smart. I wait for the oven to beep thrice.

 

A minute and thirty seconds later, I am left staring helplessly at a glass of piping hot milk that's now hiding underneath one huge, wet lump of coffee powder. Not feeling as smart now, I take out a spoon and stir vigorously to break the lumps. Right then, my husband walks in for his afternoon coffee fix. (Henceforth, I'll be referring to my husband as 'Jack' in the story. Believe me, I find his real name absolutely endearing, but the poor guy nicknamed himself Jack while in college and loves the name, so I had to make the choice.)

Jack, after years of unwilling training, immediately notices my 'something-is-wrong' face and asks me what's up. Seeing him, I too stop stirring the milk and tell him what happened.

 

I conveniently leave out the part about the clear 'directions'. I rather give him the impression that the universe stopped me from having the perfect cup of coffee.

 

Having given Jack a detailed recap of the events, I return to stirring. Jack tells me that stirring will not help. I stop again and examine the liquid. He's right; what I have merely achieved is breaking down the big lump into numerous small powder chunks that swirl leisurely at the surface. Jack suggests I should pour the mixture into a mixer jar and blend it for a quick fix of the situation.

"It's 'protein' coffee after all and protein powders are known for their infamous clumping," he says.

 

I tend to agree with Jack because the guy knows his protein powders. However, what he does not know is that, as a general rule, you are not supposed to blend hot foods in a mixer jar.

"No, we can't do that. The pressure from the heat will blow the lid off and we'll be sprayed with coffee," I tell Jack.

 

Jack doesn't give up, he usually never does when he staunchly believes in something even if he does not have all the facts. I like to believe it's one of his greatest traits that push him onto greatness as well as get him into trouble.

"Put the spoon away and try my idea. I'm telling you, you'll end up with a silky-smooth cappuccino," he continues to coax me.

 

Even though I'm not a person with many past experiences, I sometimes get things right with intuition; and my intuition says that hot foods do not go into the mixer or blender jars. (Oh wait, don't get me wrong! This in no way means that I always DO or GET everything right. Let me put it this way. While my intuition's screaming its figurative head off about the right thing to do, I usually turn a deaf ear and instead do something nonsensical that bites me in the back later. But hey, in conclusion, my intuition's solid. Let's choose to focus on just that for the time being.)

 

At the moment, it's either my husband's idea or my instinct; and I know very well that listening to the former would later have me cleaning spilled coffee off the kitchen slab and the floor. So I bravely try once again to get my way with Jack and make him understand.

"There's no way it's going to work out. There have been times when I have put slightly warm milk in the mixer jar and felt bubbling pressure when it began to blend. This milk's still hot, so the lid won't even hold. It'll fly off, Jack," I explain.

 

He scoffs in response but refrains from saying anything else. He turns his back on me and silently starts heating some milk on the stove to make his coffee. (Jack prefers heating the milk on stoves, says it gives his coffee an extra kick.) I give the milk a last weak stir that accomplishes nothing. Feeling defeated, I put down the spoon and take out a filter as a last resort to salvage my drink.

"I'm just going to filter out the remaining lumps and drink the coffee," I inform Jack's back in a feeble peace attempt. I ready the filter.

 

"No, you're not. You are impossible. I know my idea will work. Let me show you that I'm right," I suddenly hear Jack's loud voice. I detect the all-too-familiar, steely resolve in his voice and I see no further point. I turn just in time to see him reach into the top shelf for the mixer jar.

 

"Okay, fine. Show me how," I say with a resigned shrug and go to stand near the kitchen entrance with my hands folded and a peculiar look on my face. (I think it was a combination of smugness and concern.)

 

I continue watching as Jack pours the mixture into the jar and takes it to the nook where we keep our mixer grinder. Only his back's visible now. Still at the entrance, I stand on my tippy toes to look over his shoulders so as not to miss anything. But the guy is so ridiculously tall and broad-shouldered that nothing's visible from my current spot. (It doesn't help that I'm also short.) For want of a better view, I go and stand directly behind him, and peek cautiously.

 

Jack locks the jar into its place on the mixer grinder and closes the lid. The lid doesn't sit, it straight away loosens up a little. I grab the chance. "Look at that, that's exactly what I mean. The lid won't settle because the heat's resisting it. Stop this madness right now," I implore, but to no avail.

 

"Chappa matter, I will hold down the lid while it blends. It's a foolproof plan," he responds coolly, waving me off.

 

He runs the mixer grinder, for just half a second. *zwummmmmm*

 

Just as I think it somehow magically worked, Jack loosens his grip on the lid and all hell breaks loose. The coffee comes spilling out in all directions. "Naan dha sonnen la, sonnen la, sonnen la," I shout at the top of my lungs and bolt out of the kitchen with my head ducked to escape the spray. (Damn guy's lucky that he's more than a 6 feet tall, his face was spared while his chest took the brunt of the splash. The rest of the spill was caught by the slab and the floor.)

 

Warily, I strut back inside to take in the sight.

"Why won't you listen to me?," is all I ask, coldly.

"Oh, please stop talking. Everything would have gone absolutely well if you hadn't been in the scene at all," he replies without even a tiny helping of mercy.

"What even, dude?," is all that I manage before I notice that the milk for his cup of coffee is also boiling over on the stove. I dive to turn off the stove but manage to do so only after a small amount had spilled over.

"Ada raama, now look what you have done," says Jack, shaking his head dismissively.

 

I take a long look at him, decide against everything that I want to say (read: swear), and silently exit the kitchen.

 

Epilogue

3.45pm

Both of us are back in front of our laptops. Jack's enjoying his hot coffee after the 2-minute fiasco while I am seething at the sight of him with a gone-cold cup of lumpy protein coffee in hand.

*sigh* Ah, the beauty of marriage, it just fills your soul from top to bottom, dunnit?

You know what they say, it's the thought that counts. The cornerstone of the whole debacle was that Jack wanted to help...

...me understand that I cannot afford to be lazy with him lounging around. It was a hard-hitting lesson, in all.

And no, Jack did not clean the mess. I cleaned it. (Oh yes, he offered to help and of course, I kindly said, "No, thanks.")

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The Balcony

There it was. A yawn. Sleep had finally hit. A quick look at my mobile told me it was 1.13 am; so well, it was about damn time since I had already whiled away a couple of hours aimlessly. After trying to read a book, failing at it, then trying to watch a movie and failing at that too, I had cluelessly wandered out to the balcony around 11.30 pm. Had just stood out there like a zombie for around 20 minutes, only to realize that it was chilly and also that my legs were beginning to ache. Going back in, I had wrapped myself in a cozy blanket, grabbed Holly for company, dragged out my bamboo chair for a seat and settled down; to gaze blankly at the wide and empty sky, or to contemplate, as I like to call it. (I had always been immensely thankful to my balcony on sleepless days like this. The view is beautiful and absolutely calming, with only bare land, thick trees, and the sky to behold; not to mention the enjoyable privacy.)

Now, I had snapped back from oblivion with the sudden yawn only to realize again that I pretty much remembered nothing about the thoughts that had transpired in my mind during the time of "contemplation". Deciding that the sanest thing to do was to sleep, I was just about to get up when something moved in my peripheral vision on the left. It was a tiny light, flickering behind a clump of trees that was about 50 yards away and just beyond our building fence. I looked closer. The light was dim, vanishing now and then. Was that light coming from a mobile torch? It definitely looked like one that was concealed safely within a shirt's front pocket; and if so, the dark object HAD to be a person. Soon, a dark object materialized into my view, which was moving slowly along the tree-shrouded path. Feeling a quick chill run down my spine, I craned my neck and listened hard for a silent rustle or a crunch or any sound that was a sign of human life down there. Two seconds later, a thin scraping noise reached my ears, like something heavy was being dragged on the ground. By then, I had begun to shiver, both from cold and the fear of unknown.

I sat rooted to the chair, my eyes following the silhouette and ears taking in the scraping that suddenly seemed too loud and obvious amid the natural noises of the night time. A few more seconds and the party would emerge out of the thicket that obscured my view, and I could clearly see what was going on down there. Wrapping my blanket even more tightly over my head and hugging Holly to my chest, I waited. After what seemed like years, the light was finally near the edge of the last tree. My heart beat quickened and I dared not to even blink, for fear of missing something. That's when the light stopped moving and the silhouette suddenly disappeared, just behind the last tree. The noise had also subsided.

Almost a minute had passed and there was still no movement. I could only spot the dull torch gleam and nothing more. In order to get a better view, I leaned slightly to my right and craned my neck. Still nothing. I was just about to shift further to the side when the light, without any warning, quickly shot up to the tree top from where it was hovering. 

*Crash*

The shock of movement had completely tipped me off balance and I had fallen sideways from my chair to the balcony floor. Hoisting myself up hurriedly and picking Holly from the floor, I stole another quick glance at the light before running inside. As the light caught my eye again, it dawned upon me just then - it was a firefly gleam. 

P.S: I realized later on that I did not even have my mobile with me outside. Confused to the core, I returned back to bed, spotted my mobile, and grabbed it to check the time. It was only 12.44 am. Apparently, I had snapped back from my oblivion only after the fall from the chair. Neither had there been a dark object nor a scraping noise. The wonders and imagination that a jobless mind is capable of just amazes me :D

P.P.S: Holly is the only toy I've known in my life till now, who has been keeping me company for more than eight years. She looks like a cross between a dog and a teddy.

Anusha