Picture credit: Suju/Pixabay

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"Black as the devil, hot as hell, pure as an angel, sweet as love"

~ Charles Maurice de Talleyrand, speaking of the perfect cup of coffee ~

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''Ranjana, Ami Ar Ashbo Na; Ranjana, Ami Ar Ashbo Na'

The song wafted through the silent early morning hours and elicited a moan from Swara. 'Not again,' she groaned, 'not. again.' It was still dark and here it was, another day waking up to the song. She hated that song, especially when Ragini sang along in her characteristic off key voice with her 'I-give-a-damn' attitude. Swara could not understand Mrs. Das's obsession with that decades old song and even after five years she could not get used to waking up to that song. But there was just no way she could go back to sleep; not that falling asleep, curled up in the large armchair, with a book in her arms, could be called sleeping. She straightened herself, looked over to the bed where Ragini was fast asleep and sighed. It was not the first time that she wished she had Ragini's ability to sleep through that song, but then, Ragini loved that particular song so it must be different for her.

Swara looked at the time – it was just nearing four – she might as well get started, she thought. She put away her book, freshened up, and walked over to the kitchen where she would start her work for the day. Dragon Das was already there when Swara got there, which strengthened her intermittent belief that the woman had been sent on Earth only to make her life miserable. Irrespective of how early she got up, she could never reach the kitchen before the dragon did. She should have realized that the dragon was awake, the song playing meant that the dragon was up and about. Mrs. Das gave her standard silent nod in reply to Swara's good morning and handed her the list. Without another word, Swara took the list from Mrs. Das and set about her tasks for the day. The list consisted of the varieties of cupcakes that would comprise the 'specials' for the day: citrus yellow cupcakes, praline cupcakes, blueberry muffins, jelly filled doughnut cupcakes, Boston cream pies, cinnamon roll cupcakes, lemon meringue pie cupcakes and the all-time favourite, chocolate muffins.

By eight in the morning, Swara had completed her first round baking jobs, three dozen cupcakes of each of the eight varieties, which Ms. Das iced and decorated. She then cleaned up the kitchen and helped the Dragon arrange the freshly baked cupcakes in the designated counters.

Her chores for the morning done, she set the water to boil for their morning tea and then walked to their room where her sister, Ragini, who as usual, was still asleep. She just never got up on her own – she had to be cajoled into wakefulness. Swara looked tenderly at Ragini – when asleep she almost looked angelic and as was her wont, Swara felt her guilt rise and overwhelm her, Ragini deserved a much better life than what they led, but then, circumstances had not given them much of a choice either. She squeezed her eyes closed and desperately tried to stop her mind from conjuring up the 'what if' scenarios– the past was over, what was done was done and nothing could change it, and so she chided herself; she had her whole life to make up to Ragini. She tenderly brushed Ragini's hair from her face and gently shook her sister awake.

Ragini was not as fast asleep as Swara imagined her to be. Truth be told, Ragini would be awake much earlier, but she always waited for Swara to wake her up. It was a childhood habit and Ragini clung to that act. It was the only constant factor through all the upheavals in their life and gave her a small comfort that something was consistent. She knew that Swara would be taking the entire blame for what had happened with them and that Ragini's role in that event would not even be acknowledged by Swara; any attempt by Ragini to share the blame would be rebutted. Ragini disliked that selfless streak in her sister; she felt that if only Swara could be a little selfish and laid some blame on her, where it justly belonged, her burden would be easier to carry. But then Swara, being who she was, would not do that. Ragini sighed softly as she allowed herself to be woken by her sister.

Swara smiled when Ragini woke up, a little too brightly, in a bid to cover any traces of regret on her face. Ragini responded likewise, though her smile sought to hide her guilt. "Good morning, and get dressed quickly, that would give us some time to have our tea in leisure. You know that if we do not report for breakfast by nine, the dragon will start breathing fire." Ragini stifled a yawn and concurred, "Dragon Das is a stickler for timeliness, if she had her way she would even time the sunrise and sunsets," eliciting a conspiratorial laugh from Swara, which so thrilled Ragini that the sisters were soon giggling in gay abandon as they conjured up images of the Dragon timing every event, mundane or cosmic, with split second accuracy.

As Ragini got dressed for work, her mind wandered off in the familiar paths, reflecting on the ironies of life; she thought that sometimes, there comes a point in life where nothing would ever be the same and from then onwards, time was divided into two parts – 'before the event' and 'after the event'. 

'Before the event' all they had ever wanted was freedom; freedom for small things which most of the girls of their age and acquaintance took for granted. She recalled how their small wishes were opposed and made up the imaginary conversations:

- Can we wear that dress? ('No! girls should dress conservatively and should not expose any unnecessary amount of skin', - 'but Dadi, could we at least have dresses not made of so many yards of cloth, they suffocate more than they cover and make us look like frumpy dowagers');

-May we go to the movies with friends? ('girls from good families do not indulge is such shameful activities' - 'Dadi – it is a movie, not a make out session');

-Could I learn to play the guitar ('that is the degrading influence of western culture, learn to play the tanpura or maybe sing a few bhajans' – Dadi, I sound like a crow when I sing and though Swara has a beautiful voice you do not allow her to take singing classes because singing anything other than your boring bhajans is sacrilege);

-I want to study for a degree ('and what do you plan to do with a degree, it will of no use once you are married' - 'yes Dadi, but there is no harm in studying, knowledge is a good thing, is it not?');

- I would love to have a job ('nothing doing, not the daughters from my family, your only job would be to take care of your husband and his family' – 'agreed Dadi, but we could also do a job and take care of family too, it just needs some management skills').

She smiled inwardly, how great those replies sounded in her head. In the real world, however, neither she nor Swara had voiced any objection though and had silently toed every line their Dadi drew, Swara in silent resignation and Ragini with reluctant acceptance.

And now, 'after the event' when they had gained that freedom, it was unwanted and seemed worthless; as the loss of their family was the price extracted. Ragini did miss her family, as she knew that Swara also did, but there was no denying that things could never be the way they once were; what they had done had ensured that the doors to that life had been firmly closed upon them.

Breakfast with Mrs. Das was a well spread meal albeit a silent one, which was the case with any meal with Mrs. Das. She rarely spoke to the sisters and expected no conversation in return. But the sisters were fully aware of the kindness which she had dealt them; she had taken them under her wing and had generously given both of her time and home which was a constant reminder of how fortuitous they were to have made her acquaintance on that fateful day.

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The bakery 'Sweet Deals' was a little unusual as bakeries went; the location of the shop, the timings they maintained and the strictly limited number of cupcakes sold. It was situated in heart of the residential areas of Vashi, Navi Mumbai; Sector 6 to be precise and was actually a very quaint bungalow that had been altered to serve as one. The dining and living areas had been merged, the original kitchen had been extended partly into the bedroom to make space for the extra equipment needed and addition storage space required for the same. The existing door in the kitchen leading to the backyard was retained to facilitate deliveries to be made without disturbing the customers and also afforded some privacy to the sisters, who did not have to use the shop entrance for their comings and goings.

To make up for the room taken by the kitchen the adjoining passage way to the stairs and a part of the living room were merged into the bedroom, which the girls resided in. The result of such remodeling was that the bedroom was a long room, a little wider than the length of a bed; it gave them the impression of staying in a sort of dormitory, as the narrow width made it impossible for all the pieces of furniture to be arranged other than in a single row. But it was a home for them and they spared no effort to make it as cosy as possible.

The windows of the merged living/dining space were doubled in size which allowed an abundance of light eliminating the need for artificial lighting during day times. The all-round verandah with its potted plants and intermittent creepers winding to the upstairs balcony added to the quaint charm and provided the much needed shade in the summers. As a final touch, the compound brick wall facing the entrance was replaced with a thick iron railing, which afforded a greater visibility to the bakery.

The floor above, which was taken by Mrs. Das for her residence, had a one bedroom, the other one refurbished to create a kitchen for her personal use and a living and dining space. After the sisters had come to stay with her on a permanent basis, she had a second external staircase built to her rooms for her personal use, so that both she and the sisters had the privacy they would need.

Swara had been bewildered when she had learnt of the timings; she hardly expected a shop which was open for only around seven hours a day for six days a week could do a decent business. But then she never questioned it as the hours enabled a much leisurely work schedule for her. And when Ragini had started her job at the call centre, closing the shop by seven meant that Swara could even finish off tallying the collections and writing up the daily accounts at the same time Ragini got off her shift. This ensured that the sisters could have their dinner together, while catching up with the mundane events of their daily life; Mrs. Das retired to bed early so the dinner was sent downstairs for the sisters. It was not what would constitute an exciting life but they had learnt that it was disastrous to wish for certain things and were pretty content with their simple and predictable lives.

But then the only predicable thing in life is its unpredictability; and soon it was time, once again, for their lives to take a turn.

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The chime over the door jangled, indicating that someone had stepped in and jolted Swara, who had been focused on the daily accounts. She looked up to see a tall, well-built man at the door and said a little crossly, "We are closed. You should be able to read the sign."

The stranger, who had already stepped in, retorted, "Well, your sign says you are still open. It is raining and I would be glad for some coffee."

Swara swore inwardly as she noted that she had forgotten to flip the board. 'Nothing could be done now,' she sighed, which did not go unnoticed by the stranger who said, "If it is difficult for you, please do not trouble yourself." Immediately contrite, Swara gave a bright smile, shook her head and replied, "No, I am sorry, it was rude of me. I shall get one for you right away. How would you like it?"

The stranger, who had now carefully divested himself of his dripping raincoat and had hung it at the peg near the door, strode towards the counter where the coffee machine rested; he looked at the machine with an appraising eye and then at Swara, "One Cappuccino, please."

Something in his tone jarred, he was polite, there no doubt in that, but he also seemed to be trying to test her ability, her ability in making a perfect cup of coffee. And for no reason, that irked her, 'well, he was in for a surprise, she did not drink coffee but could make a mean cup,' she thought as she started. First she poured cold milk ('whole milk' she noted, remembering Dragon Das's instruction – 'never anything else,' as though not using whole milk would cause an apocalypse in the coffee world) into a metal steaming pitcher, about a third full. She then released steam from the steaming wand for two seconds to eliminate any residual water and dipped the tip of wand into the milk and started the jet. She waited for the foam to rise and as the volume of milk increased, she slowly lowered the pitcher, always taking care that the tip was submerged and the pitcher tilted to create a vortex. She continued the steaming until the milk reached 65 degrees (her experience taught her when it was hot enough, she did not even need to check with the thermometer).She tapped the base of the pitcher firmly on the counter top to compress the foam and then prepared an espresso in a large cup, after which she poured the foamed milk directly into the cup, first aiming for the centre then continuing in a circular motion out towards the rim. As a finishing touch, she used a toothpick to create a swirling design, before serving it to the stranger, who had been waiting at the counter all this time.

He took the cup proffered, breathed in the aroma, took a sip and gave a smile in silent appraisal. Swara, who had been silently seething at his intrusion, felt a thrill at his smile which immediately renewed her irritation. 'Why should I be happy at his smile?' she thought angrily as she turned her attention to the last minute closing tasks, leaving him alone to his coffee, which he had carried to the small table, near the window, at the corner of the shop.

The stranger drank his coffee in silence dividing his attention between the watching the drizzle outside and the petite woman who had made him his coffee, her mercurial changes in expressions not having gone unnoticed by him. 'She makes a pretty picture,' he thought, 'with delicate chiseled features and long hair, which though had been severely plaited, served to accentuate her face rather than diminish her beauty.'  Each time he had glanced at her, he perceived no change in her posture; she continued to be bent over the books, immersed in her writing and oblivious to both him and the world. Suddenly, he felt like an intruder into her small world, he quickly finished his coffee, settled his account and walked towards the door. While taking his raincoat off, he quietly flipped the board to read 'Closed', stealing a backward glance as though to check if his actions had been noted. Seeing that she had gone back to her books, he smiled and stepped out into the fine drizzle.

Swara finally finished her work a few minutes later and started closing up. When she saw that the board had been turned, she was puzzled till she realized that the stranger must have done so. 'Well, that is nice of him,' she thought. Her last task for the day was to clear the table where the stranger had his coffee and as she picked up his cup and saucer to be dumped in the sink for washing, she saw the folded piece of paper below. She stood for a couple of minutes contemplating as to what the presence of the note could mean, till curiosity getting the better of her, she unfolded the note to read 'smile more often. You are adorable when you smile.'

Swara's instinctive reaction was a surge of irritation and she crushed the paper furiously. 'What does he think of himself, writing a note like that,' she thought, and then immediately she heard a small voice in her head, 'come on! You are presuming a lot of things based on a single note, he was a gentleman, very polite and courteous even in the face of your not so warm welcome.' Swara sighed, her inner voice though inconvenient and intrusive, was right. The stranger had been extremely polite, so much so that she wished she had been a little less curt with him.

She stuffed the crumpled note into the pocket of her jeans, closed up for the day and the note stayed forgotten. It was only while she was changing into her pajamas and heard a tiny rustling that she recalled the note. She pulled it out, smoothened out the paper and read it once again. As she kept reading that note, a small smile slid across her face as though in answer to the stranger's request and stayed there all through the night.

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A/N

I would love to know what you think about this chapter. I have edited to correct a few typos.

Nyna