The Homemaker

Nakul paused as he took in the aroma of the dish he was preparing. He had tried to mix it up a little, so that it wasn’t the traditional chicken curry his mother prepared. He still wanted to retain the essence of the original dish, but with a touch of new flavour.

It was one of the first few dishes he had learnt growing up, and over the years he had experimented a lot with it. The more he experimented, the more confident he became, until he could decipher what was missing, or what addition needed to be made, with just a sniff.

“Daaaad!” he heard a yell from one of the rooms, “Is dinner ready?”

“Almost!” he yelled back.

He heard the heavy thud of feet running towards the kitchen area and soon enough, his daughters, Maya and Mrinal, aged 6 and 4 years respectively, appeared at the kitchen door.

“Is dinner ready?” Maya, his oldest, asked.

“Not yet. In about 15 minutes.” He replied, stirring the pot of curry, making sure the chicken was coated well with all the spices.

“Are you making the green chicken curry?” Mrinal asked.

“Yes.” He said with a smile, “Do you want to taste it? I made it slight spicy.” He scooped a little gravy with a spoon and held it out for her to eat.

Mrinal came forward and tasted it, frowning, as she decided the verdict. After a second, she smiled.

“Yummy.”

“Do you like it?” Nakul asked. He always felt a sense of pride when one of his dishes turned out well. He especially trusted Mrinal’s opinion because she was too young to lie. She didn’t understand social etiquettes such as being diplomatic to spare people’s feelings. She was honest and blunt to a T, the way only children could be.

“Yes,” she nodded, “Can I have more?”

“Not yet,”

“Is this like granny’s chicken curry?” Maya asked.

“Yes, but with a slight variation.”

“What’s vay-ray-shun?” Mrinal asked.

“It means it’s almost like granny’s chicken curry. Now go sit down at the dining table over there if you want dinner. I can’t cook with you’ll jumping around me like this.”

He heard a collective whine, but when he looked at them with raised eyebrows, they obediently went and sat down at the dining table.

That was fairly easy, he thought, they must be hungry. It wasn’t usually that easy getting them to obey anything he said.

Just as he was adding the finishing touches to the dish, he heard the phone ring.

“Maya! Go check who’s on the line,’ he called out, as he bought the dinner and other cutlery out to the dining table.

He heard Maya answer the phone and speak for a few minutes to whoever was on the other side.

“It’s grandpa!” she said, handing over the cordless phone to him.

He quickly wiped his hands on a towel as he answered the phone.

“Hi dad,’ he said cheerfully.

“Hi beta, how are you?”

“Good. I just finished cooking dinner. I was going to serve the girls when you called.” He said, as he signalled Maya and Mrinal to go wash their hands before eating.

There was a pause on the line.

“Where’s Neelima?” his dad asked, curiously.

“She’s working the night shift. In fact, this whole week she’s had to work nights. She says it’s been crazy at the hospital with the monsoon season setting in.”

The girls came back and sat on their chairs, patiently waiting for him. He started serving them rice and curry on their plates with his free hand, while balancing the phone with the other.

“Eat everything.” He told them sternly before going into the kitchen to get glasses of water.

“So, she’s busy taking care of the world while you are taking care of the house?” his dad asked.

Nakul paused. He could sense the sarcasm. He had had too many of these conversations to not know what was coming. He braced himself for the inevitable argument.

“Dad.” He said, with a warning note in his voice, “I’ve told you before. We share the household chores between us.”

“Oh, I know what you told me.” His dad said, “It just seems like you are playing the mother here while she is playing the father.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nakul sighed.

“Well, Neelima is always working. Odd hours too, mind you. And you are always at home. Cooking. Cleaning after the kids. Don’t you have a job?” his dad grumbled.

“Neelima is a nurse,” Nakul said sharply, “So no, it is not a 9-5 job. We knew this is what we signed up for. As for me, I do have a job, dad, and I have the option of working from home.”

“Working from home,” his dad said mockingly, “there was no such thing in our time. You went to the office to do your job. You didn’t stay at home and share household chores. Next thing you know, you will be one of those stay-at-home dads.”

“And what if I am?” Nakul asked defensively. He would never admit it to his dad, especially not now, but the thought had crossed his mind a few times; to work part-time so that he could spend more time with the kids.

Nakul suddenly heard Mrinal coughing.

“I have to go, dad. I’ll call you later,” he said quickly, before cutting the call and rushing to the dining area.

Mrinal seemed to have swallowed her bite of food too quickly and was now furiously coughing, while Maya fervently thumped her on the back.

“That’s enough, Maya, thank you” Nakul said, and Maya promptly backed away. He bought a glass of water and helped Mrinal take a few sips.

“Feeling better?” he asked, as her coughing gradually subsided.

She nodded, and when he was sure no one else was going to choke on his cooking, he sat down, so they could all go back to having their dinner.

He watched as his daughters happily dug into the food he had painstakingly cooked and felt a slight ache in his chest as he recalled his dad’s callous words. It wasn’t the first time he was hearing those words nor was his dad the first one to point out that there seemed to be a role reversal when it came to his and Neelima’s parenting.

Neelima was a good mother, no doubt about that, and she loved her daughters, but they both knew that Nakul shared a deeper bond with the kids. It wasn’t something that they had planned or decided. It had just happened. Nakul could still remember the day Maya was born. It was hard to put it in words, but he just remembered feeling overwhelmed, in the best way possible. It was a feeling of instantaneous love.

He remembered a lot of his friends sharing their own fatherhood stories, how sometimes it took a bit of time before you could make that switch and start falling in love with this new tiny being that was part of your life; that while it was easier for mothers to connect with their new-born, it sometimes took fathers some time to develop that same level of bonding.

But that wasn’t the case with Nakul.

He had felt that connection from the first moment, with both his daughters.

Of course, that was just the beginning. In the initial few years, Nakul was constantly around his family, making sure everyone was taken care of. When his daughters wouldn’t sleep through the nights, he would get up along with Neelima to go console them; when Neelima was too tired to cook, he would take over the cooking himself and make sure his wife and daughters were well fed. While growing up, he had always enjoyed cooking, much to his father’s dismay and confusion, and there was never a time it was more useful than during those initial days, when the kids were small. In general, he started playing a more active role in the household chores, helping Neelima cook and clean, to make things easier on both of them.

When it was time for Neelima to go back to work, they had a long discussion on managing their parenting along with their work schedules. Neelima’s job required her to be flexible with her hours and so, Nakul volunteered to stay at home more often, so that there was someone to look after the kids. Looking back, he never thought of it as a burden or a responsibility. His parents and even some of his friends had questioned this but it had seemed like an almost natural choice to him even though it wasn’t conventional. Neelima had accepted this quietly as well, her relief almost palpable that it wouldn’t have to be her who had to stay at home. In some ways, maybe he had donned the role of ‘mother’ from the start.

Staying at home, the bond between his daughters and him had only strengthened further. All the chores that some of his friends shirked away from, he took on with enthusiasm. Raising his daughters had given him the freedom to embrace his own effeminate side. Whether it was learning how to braid his daughter’s hair, playing dress-up or watching Beauty and the Beast on loop, he enjoyed all of it.

It was only natural then, that when it was time for Maya to go to school it was Nakul she hugged, crying, while Neelima looked on helplessly; when Mrinal got her ears pierced, it was Nakul who comforted and held her during the aftermath; when any of his daughters had a nightmare and were heard crying in their room, it was almost an unsaid rule that it would be Nakul who would comfort them. He was the sole orbit around which his daughter’s lives revolved.

“I think this is the best chicken curry you have made,’ Maya suddenly said, nodding thoughtfully.

Nakul smiled. To hell with anyone who questioned his choices. Parents were supposed to love their children. Who was anyone to decide how and in what capacity?

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, as he dropped a kiss on her head.

Maybe someday he would become a stay-at-home dad. One could hope.

It was the 21^st century, after all.

***