The Wedding Tamasha

The café had a seating for about a dozen people. Though small, it
was just enough for Julie and, occasionally, her daughter, Sarah, to
manage. They lived in the rooms at the back, and Shweta had been
allowed to share the one upstairs with Max. He was their handyman,
cook, cleaner and odd-jobs man, all-in-one.
‘Where’s Max?’ Shweta asked, suddenly remembering that he had
been missing since morning. Max had recently moved in with a friend
and she had begun to miss him already.
Max walked in just then, his head hung low, as if hoping that Julie
wouldn’t catch him for being late. Max had dark short hair and lean
muscles, the type that came from physical labour.
He shambled over to the counter where he took out the rolling pin
and started rolling out the tortillas. If Julie had seen him come in late, she
didn’t bring it up. Max was late every day since he had moved out.
Max began to roll the tortillas thin and round, with perfection, and
arranged them on the counter for cooking them on the iron griddle.
Today, he’d forgotten to switch on the radio and Shweta reached up to
the rack above the dishwasher to turn it on. Soft music flooded the
kitchen as she went on with her chores. The chicken and beef needed to
be prepped. The pork chorizo sausages needed to be scoured; the lettuce
washed, dried and shredded; the jalapenos and peppers chopped. She’d
become faster since last week, and was already on to the task of blending
the fruit juices before the regular trickle of customers started.
The office crowd started pouring in during lunch hour, the door
repeatedly jingling. Shweta stayed in the kitchen, preparing the orders
that Julie called out.
Shweta got twenty minutes off for lunch, which was always
burrito. She made her way out through the back exit and passed the
dumpster on her way to a bench under a tree in the parking lot. She
opened her packed bowl and dug in. The aroma of chicken curry
emanated from the Kebab Corner next door and Shweta drooled at the
mouth-watering smell. She missed her mother’s chicken curry like hell.
She wished she had the courage to go back home to her family.
The café closed at eight P.M. As Shweta trudged to her room
upstairs, she was surprised to be greeted by the sound of the TV. As she
let herself in, she saw Max lying on the single bed, watching a TV show.
A pot of soup gurgled on the stove, its rich aroma wafting to where she
stood at the door. The room suddenly seemed livelier with Max around
and she smiled, forgetting how much her legs ached.