Aloo-Baingan

Jaya was as excited as she had been on the day she met Bharath. She was finally going to get that coveted job she had been eyeing since joining the company. She was just notified by Mr. Parashar, the Chairman, that she was going to be named editor-in-chief of New India Newsweek over the weekend, making her the youngest female editor-in-chief in all of India. She couldn’t wait to share her elation with the one person who meant the world to her, the man who completed her, the only person alive who understood her, her husband Bharath Bharuch.

Despite being the topper of her class at the University of Hyderabad’s MS in Journalism & Mass Communication, Jaya had no interest in going back to professional work. She had always been brilliant academically. In school and at the university, she achieved whatever she set her sights on. Influenced by Children’s Knowledge Bank, Reader’s Digest and The Economic Times — the 3 publications she grew up with — she had decided that Engineering or Medicine was not for her; she wanted to become a journalist. She was selected for International Mathematics Olympiad in high school but refused to participate, choosing instead to attend freelancing journalism electives. And never regretted her decision. Life though, hadn’t been as kind for the single child. Jaya lost both her parents before she turned 15; her mom succumbing to cancer and her dad passing away in a road accident. Her aunt Indrani, Jaya’s mom’s sister, took her in after her dad passed away and raised her as her own, along with her own 2 younger children. Indrani was Jaya’s rock, her true confidant until she met and eventually married Bharath.

Theirs was an arranged marriage. Jaya was rather young, all of 23 years old, when Indrani walked into her room one night. Jaya had just announced that she had landed her dream job at the reputed Indian Express newspaper. With some hesitation, Indrani asked Jaya if she was ready to get married. Her trepidation was due primarily to the possibility of Jaya misunderstanding her question as trying to get her to leave the house. Jaya loved and respected Indrani too much for that. She could sense her aunt’s discomfort. She took her aunt’s hand in her own hand, hugged her tightly and said “yes, sure, but only if I like the dude!” For all her brains, Jaya was a timid little girl inside, her childhood having been rocked by agonizing realities of life. She was too smart to realize that she could not possibly hang on to Indrani for life. She was already planning to move out of the house and anchor her life to her profession. But she thought, almost instantaneously, having a good life partner in parallel might not be a bad choice. “Let’s check him out aunty,” said Jaya to a visibly relieved Indrani.

Of medium height and petite frame with big brown eyes, naturally manicured eyebrows, a small mouth with thin red lips accentuated with a touch of glossy lipstick, Jaya was quite pretty looking. A beautiful red saree draped over her slim body, combined with light makeup and a tied pony tail braid heightened her beauty. Indrani was the first to notice her gorgeous niece as she came out of the bedroom. She couldn’t resist and placed a tiny nazar ka tika on Jaya’s right, dimpled cheek; Jaya let out a chuckle and hugged her aunt.

It was around 6 pm when the doorbell rang. The anticipation of meeting a complete stranger who might become her husband suddenly got to Jaya. A confident person otherwise, she was suddenly very nervous. “But I am only 23; do I really need this right now; can I wait another 5 years; do I look alright; why did I have to wear a saree; what if I hate his looks; what if he doesn’t like me?” the questions were reeling off unhinged in her brain when she heard her uncle Sampath open the front door and welcome somebody in. Regaining her poise as best as she could, Jaya trudged her way into the living room to find it rather empty. Sampath uncle was there alright, with one rather handsome looking guy as she surveyed the room from the corner of her eyes. She was expecting a horde of relatives from the “groom’s side”, a mental picture she had formed based on all the Bollywood movies she had watched in her life. Except, here she was, in real life, suddenly feeling completely underwhelmed by the setup. “Seriously, I wore a saree and makeup for this one guy? But wait, he is the only one that matters, right?” the questions reel had started again, interrupted only by the very calm voice of a mature adult: “Hi, I am Bharath.” There was something very reassuring about his voice that made Jaya suddenly look up, her confidence fully back, and extend her hand back to complete the handshake. “Firm handshake, not too hard, not too soft; the man surely knows his manners,” thought Jaya.

Almost 6 feet tall, broad-shouldered, with not a hint of a paunch, Bharath was quite athletic-looking. Cleanly shaven face with a square jaw, curly black hair and a straight-edged nose completed his visage. “He’s actually pretty good looking; wonder if he’s just a muscle-pumping, handsome-looking, good-for-nothing jock,” the thought was starting to cross Jaya’s mind, when Indrani joined them in the room with a tray of steaming hot tea. “I thought Jaya would bring the tray of tea, not you Aunty,” quipped Mr. Handsome, to everybody’s laughter. Jaya couldn’t help but join in. Jaya was sure he must have been as nervous as she was — after all, the decision was similarly hard for him — but he seemed a lot more at ease than her. “Has he already made his decision? Does he like me?” thought Jaya. Regardless, Bharath’s voice was so reassuring, calming and friendly. There was something very comforting being around him. He had quickly put everybody at ease with his candid chat. Jaya noticed he had already declared how good the tea was and that he was going to go for seconds as soon as he’s done with his first cup. “Either he really loved the tea, or was just hell-bent on making a good impression. But he doesn’t sound pretentious at all,” Jaya’s thoughts were dueling amongst themselves.

“I saw you the last time I was in Hyderabad on a business trip,” he paused. “My Aunty is your neighbor; I saw you when I visited her last month,” quickly added Bharath, anticipating the question from a visibly confused Jaya. Now it all started making sense to Jaya — why Dhume aunty had suddenly asked Indrani aunty about getting her niece hitched to her nephew. “So, he likes me. Yayy!” thought Jaya, with an ever so slight smile leaving her lips. Bharath noticed. It was the reassurance he was seeking. With the initial hesitations out of the way, it was quite the smooth ride rest of the evening.

Bharath was intent on getting the deal done that evening; he was staying at her aunt’s place that night, so was in no rush of leaving anytime soon, not that Jaya wanted him to go anywhere anyways. Jaya had changed into more comfortable Jeans and a red blouse, apparently the same combination Bharath had first seen her in, and fallen in love with her. He blurted it out as soon as she stepped out of the house; they had decided to go for a walk outside. He was waiting for her near his aunt’s house even as Indrani and Mrs. Dhume were congratulating each other on their grand match-making success. Uncle Sampath didn’t anticipate this all to go so smoothly, so he decided to celebrate the success with a glass of whiskey himself.

Bharath was an Engineering Director at Infosys Bangalore, with his core expertise in Cybersecurity. Apparently, he had hand-picked Cybersecurity for himself because it appeased his appetite for: (1) Mathematics, (2) Programming, (3) Human pyschology, and very interestingly, (4) Social welfare; catching thieves is social welfare is how he put it simply. He had been doing Cybersecurity stuff for the past 8 years—6 years at IIT Delhi through his PhD in Computer Science and 2 years at Infosys. “To become an Engineering Director at Infosys within 2 years, he must either be extremely connected or out-of-the-world brilliant,” thought Jaya to herself.

It turned out, as Jaya would discover over the next several months of their dating each other, Bharath was actually a math prodigy. He was only 25 years old, had already gotten his PhD and had been working at Infosys for 2 years. In her mind, he was quickly becoming “Will” from her favorite Hollywood movie, Good Will Hunting. The only reason he didn’t chart Ramanujan’s path, he confided in her one day with not a hint of egotism, was because he wanted to live a good, normal life. He enjoyed mathematics but he also cherished so many other beautiful things life has to offer, like Jaya! She was swept off her feet. She wanted to marry him, then and there. She started crying. She hugged him and sobbed for what felt like an eternity. Years of pretending to be a confident person who could deal with any curveball life throws at her had melted away. She had found the one companion who would take care of her. That was the night when she dipped her index finger into her moist kajal-filled eyes and placed a tiny nazar-ka-tika on the right side of his face and declared: “You are mine.”

They got married the next week. They had been to Bangalore a few times, to meet Bharath’s parents, who were both adorable and for all practical purposes, grown-up versions of Bharath. “An apple doesn’t fall from the tree,” thought Jaya when she met them for the first time. They were more like pals of their only child Bharath than his parents. It turned out that they were apparently all in on the scheme to woo Jaya. They were at Dhume aunty’s house too when Bharath first saw her reading a book in her balcony. Bharath had declared to his parents that she was the girl he’s going to marry. They had even celebrated his proclamation with a bottle of champagne at Dhume aunty’s house that night, as Jaya would find out several months later. It had all come together finally for Jaya.

Jaya and Bharath had been married for a little over 2 years now. They had contemplated but decided to wait a couple more years to have their first child. All Jaya wanted to do after getting married was to be a good home-maker. She had lost interest in pursuing a professional career. She had found her anchor in life, Bharath. She was perfectly fine waiting for him to come back home from work. But Bharath knew Jaya was too qualified to be a stay-at-home wife. She had told him about her passion for journalism. He knew she would be much more satisfied if she pursued her childhood passion.

Bharath surprised her one day by opening an appointment letter for an interview at New India Newsweek, an up and coming online news publication company in Bangalore. He had taken her Resume and applied for the job, complete with a cover letter and all. He was a creative writer too, as Jaya would find out that day. “How many hats do you wear Bharath?” she had sarcastically enquired that day. She nabbed the job next day. Bharath had not an iota of doubt in his wife’s smarts.

Back to the present. Bharath wasn’t picking up the phone. “He must be driving, or in an important meeting,” thought Jaya to herself, even as she started packing her bags. Before long, she was on a Uber ride, heading home. She tried calling him a couple more times but with no success. They had a mutual code of understanding to text each other if the other wasn’t picking up the phone; Bharath’s default mode was to not pick a call if he was in the middle of an important meeting. Jaya didn’t want to text today, choosing instead to deliver him the good news face-to-face, at home.

No sooner had the Uber car reached their home, she saw Bharath’s Audi pulling into the driveway. Jaya started screaming like a hysterical child, bid her Uber driver goodbye and ran towards Bharath’s car, all at once. Bharath had barely parked his car and had half unrolled his driver-side window to check if everything was okay with his wife than he found Jaya’s head popped inside the car and her lips firmly planted on his own. “Whoa! what’s going on here?” gasped Bharath. They must have kissed like that for a good 15 seconds before Jaya let him come out of the car and hugged him in the driveway. “That was amazing; let’s do it again,” insisted Bharath. “Been there, done that,” said Jaya coyly as she started walking to the front door.

“So, what happened Mrs. Bharuch?” asked Bharath, closing the front door shut behind himself. “I got it Bharath! I am the new editor-in-chief of New India Newsweek,” exclaimed Jaya even as she fell into Bharath’s arms again. “Wohoo! See, now that is why I made you take up that job,” said Bharath nonchalantly. “Wait, what do you mean? So that I can become the editor-in-chief? What is in it for you Mr. Bharuch?” asked Jaya quizzically. “Imagine yourself being a stay-at-home wifey. Would you have ever dared that act of PDA — public display of affection — in the middle of the day, with a dozen folks watching you yelling wildly and doing that,” questioned Bharath, mockingly licking his lips. “You are a dog Bharath,” blurted Jaya even as they hugged once more, both laughing uncontrollably.

Jaya was announced as the new editor-in-chief of New India Newsweek. Her first assignment was to get acquainted with her staff at their second biggest office in Pune, a city that was a couple hours by flight and over 12 hours by train or road from Bangalore. She was to stay in Pune for 3 weeks, a development that was eating her away. Not that she hadn’t lived without Bharath that long; after all, he had been on business trips to San Francisco, Rome, Singapore and Shanghai plenty of times, sometimes for 2–3 weeks at a stretch. But it was always the other way around — she was the one at the home base. It was new territory for her. She decided to park the subject for the day and discuss with Bharath later in the night.

“What’s the big deal Jaya? I stay by myself when I am on my trips. I eat at restaurants and drink at the bars,” quipped Bharath. “Yeah, but you always complain how you hate all the greasy food outside and end up with an upset tummy and then you stop eating altogether, right?” said Jaya. “Oh, c’mon Jaya. I am not a baby. I’ll manage. I will go to Ma-Papa’s place for a couple days. Please let this not deter you,” tried to reason Bharath. “And besides, you can come home every weekend; it’s only a couple hours by flight, door to door,” said Bharath. “I know you too well Bharath. You will probably visit your parents once in 3 weeks and will stay at work all day, all night,” stated Jaya. “Why don’t you cook weekly supplies of food and put them in the fridge? Brilliant, eh!” a jubilant sounding Bharath declared. “That would work, indeed,” smilingly said Jaya finally, planting a loving kiss on Bharath’s cheek.

“What did you have for dinner tonight, my love?” asked Jaya on the 3rd night. “Aloo-Baingan, just the way my wife makes it,” replied Bharath lovingly. He had returned from work 30 mins back, famished for he had missed the lunch; he had got caught up in preparations for an important client from The Netherlands tomorrow. He had just thrown a portion of his favorite subzi in the microwave and had starting warming rotis on the pan. Jaya was right: For all his world travels, Bharath hated restaurant food. He could manage the salads and a glass of wine outside but would otherwise find every excuse not to eat outside. Of Jaya’s culinary skills, he would often declare that she was born just to cook food for him. She knew him too well to have worried about his meals when she first found out that she had to spend 3 weeks away from him. They talked as he ate his dinner and cleaned up after himself. He told her about the big presentation tomorrow, so they hung up soon after.

Bharath’s presentation went extremely well. His team snapped up a major new contract, which called for a celebration obviously. Bharath called Jaya as soon as he learned about the “win” — they had to share everything — and told her that the team will be celebrating the success at The Underground, a pub that Bharath actually liked. There was a good chance he might be made a VP after his team delivers on this project successfully within a year. Jaya couldn’t be any prouder. “A VP at Infosys and he won’t even be 28!” mused Jaya. Most importantly, today was Thursday night, which meant she’d be home with Bharath tomorrow.

“So, what’s the surprise Bharath?” asked Jaya, still in his arms, five minutes after they had entered the house. Bharath had picked her up from the airport on his way back from work; he had announced on the drive back that he has a surprise for her at home. “I’m going to cook for you,” declared Bharath. For all the talents Bharath possessed — being a math prodigy, a computer wizard, a creative writer, an excellent orator and a world-class lover, Jaya knew cooking was not quite Bharath’s forte. All his past odysseys in the kitchen had ended in disasters. He was obviously pleased to have Jaya back but she was convinced that he was stretching it a bit too much this time. She was starving, having missed her lunch and her evening dose of fruit. She hated airline food. Bharath ordered Jaya to go freshen up while he ‘prepared’ the dinner. She was hoping he had ordered Pizza.

The table was set. There was wine, a fancy basket containing 6 warm rotis, a bowl of fresh rice — “when did he make this?” thought Jaya — a bowl of piping hot daal, which Jaya immediately recognized as something she had made 5 days back, and a very fancily decorated pan full of hot subzi. Jaya couldn’t hold her giggles. “This is fabulous honey! When did you do all this? I mean, wow! And may I ask, what is this subzi?” bursted out Jaya. “Baingan-Aloo, of course,” pat came the response from Bharath. “Wait, you mean Aloo-Baingan, right? The one I had made before I left,” asked Jaya. “No my dear wife. This is my original invention. It’s called Baingan-Aloo and it tastes much better than your Aloo-Baingan, if I might dare say,” replied Bharath, fully aware of the next question headed his way. “And how do you make it, my hottest-chef-in-the-town,” probed Jaya. “Aha! Now that you admit I am the sexiest chef around, I shall give you my secret recipe. You first take my beautiful wife’s Aloo-Baingan subzi. You start by eating equal portions of Aloo & Baingan on Day 1; on Day 2, you eat 2 Aloo pieces for every Baingan piece you put on your plate; on Day 3, you eat 4 Aloo pieces for every one Baingan piece and so on. If you follow this Geometric Progression, you shall arrive at the mathematically correct Baingan-Aloo recipe on Day 5,” said Bharath with a straight, stoic face. They both burst out laughing, but not before digging their paws into the fabulous meal in front of them.