Secret Ingredient!

I stumbled my way into the crowded Mumbai local. An army of hands, shoulders, sweaty armpits and necks swathed with talcum powder engulfed my senses blanking me out for a second, like every single day. A train bogie is very interesting place to be in; here stories are born, raised, fed, killed, starved, revived. With each life that goes in and out of the local, there is an one ounce of their lives left behind. Gossip hangs in the air like oxygen, you cant help but breathe it in. I've heard stories of marital infidelity, financial stress, trips abroad, depressing breakups, new arrivals in the family, giggled whispers of 'the last night'- well the last one is my favorite, it sends an exciting shiver down my spine. Noise is another thing that breeds inside trains; the rustling of silk saris against the soft fleshy skin, cotton saris making a crisp statement as they caress my hands when I brush past them, even the heavily embroidered saris scratching me, as if condemning me for touching them without consent. There are other clothing too, but none talk as much as saris. This combined with the clinking of bangles, the occasional jingling of an anklet, crying babies being lulled to sleep, the thundering of the train as it snakes its way through the heart of the city; this was music in itself.  

So here I was pushing my way through the crowd, in hopes of finding a kind soul who would offer me her seat. I wanted to sit near the window and sense the warm sunlight pervading through my skin, calming my fluttering heart worrying about trivial matters or simply soothe my jittery nerves still jumpy after my fight with the morning station crowd. Oh! and the wind was a bliss in disguise. It would be my lover for the next 30 mins in the train. The wind would touch my face with its icy morning hands, played with my hair, freeing it from the strict bun I tucked them into and on other days it just listened to my tuneless humming with rapt attention, often whispering along with me. I had to sit on the window seat today.

Suddenly as if in answer to my prayers, a hand caught hold of my hand and guided me to the seat. As I brushed past her, she whispered into my ears, " I hope you are comfortable." Have you ever heard the tinkering of the bells in a monastery? The voice that just touched my ear was more soothing than that. Have you heard the water playfully falling down as a waterfall? Her voice was livelier than that. Have you heard a baby gurgling with happiness? Her voice was softer than that. Today the wind lost its lover and I gained a muse. She was wearing a suit whose dupatta dangled on my arm teasing me to grab it. The other end must have sweptthe dirty floor, for it made her friend comment, "Arre, dekho chunni sambhalo...". She was standing near my seat and was talking incessantly to her friend. Just like the Bombay rains. I couldn't overhear what they where talking, but I heard the clinking of her bangles, as she moved about her hands. I wonder if they were of gold or glass?! As luck would have been, the woman next to me got up to get down and my muse settled down next to me. I knew I had to make some small talk.

I innocently asked her the time, well yeah the same age old easy pick up line, only I really wanted to know the time. She replied "10:00 o'clock" and I think she may have smiled. With that assumption I smile back at her.

"Which stop is yours?" I asked

"Dongri"

"Oh, mine too."

I heard the clink of an aluminium box and a second later a greasy sweet smell wafted up my nostrils tickling an old suppressed memory awake.

"Is that sooji ka halwa?" I asked curiousely

"Yes aunty, I made it in the morning in a hurry and did not even get time to check if I got it right. Why don't you taste and tell me how it is?"

And with that she placed the aluminium box with a spoon inside onto my palm. I gingerly picked up a spoonfull of the halwa and guided it towards my mouth. It tasted just like that old memory. That dash of secret ingredient teased my mouth as I savoured the taste, just like the good old days. I still don't know what that secret ingredient was.

"It's very tasty! Your halwa has reminded me of a very old friend who used to make halwa the same way. She always claimed to have a secret ingredient which she would never share with me despite my pleadings." I told the girl, laughing at the memory.

"This is my mother's recipe. And she also had her special secret ingredient which she made me swear to keep it a secret. She used to boast that the whole of Nasik was a fan of her halwa." she replied giggling.

"Nasik? That's where I grew up too. My friend Srikala used to boast the same. We were neighbours and very good friends. I hated admitting how good her cooking was. Oh! the good old days. I never met her after her marriage. I wonder where she is now?!"

"Did you say Shrikala? Was her maiden name Shrikala Kohli? Did she marry a bank manager?"

"Yes" I exclaimed surprised, "How do you know her? Where is she now? I tried contacting her many times after her marriage but her parents also shifted from our block and she never replied to my letters. Maybe they never reached her."

"She is my mother, aunty. And she passed away three years back." Her voice quivered for a second. "But Iam so glad to have met you. Please take my number and address, I want to sit with you and hear all of your childhood stories. What a wonderful morning this is!" Her voice trailed of excitedly into the background as memories stung my eyes as fresh as yesterdays. The touch of her hand, brushing off our lips, the times we held each other tight and close afraid of being discovered. We had our own secret ingredient to our friendship, secrets the world never knew and did not want to know. Blind since birth, I never got to know how she looked, but the contour of her face was familiar to me like the back of my hand and the tinkling of her trinkets, the playful clinking of her bangles, all enticed me towards her. Though I had never met her in the past 25 years, the news of her death tightened its hands around my neck, choking me. She was the only one with whom I had shared my secret, our secret, Our secret ingredient.

I felt a piece of paper pushed into my hands. The train was slowing down, and I heard the familiar bustle of the station.

"Aunty, I have written down my phone number and address. Come let us get down, We have entered Dongri."

"No actually today I have to go a bit further. You carry on beta, I will definitely give you a call today evening. My Shri's daughter, Iam so glad we met today." I replied squeezing her hand. My Shri's hands! 

As the train made its way out of the station, I edged closer to the window. The wind whispered into my ears willing me to let free the memories I had treasured all these ears. I smiled, refusing to share my secret ingredient. Our secret ingredient!