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Sunday, 9 June 2013

THE OVER BAKED TOAST By Sobhan Pramanik

THE OVER BAKED TOAST
By Sobhan Pramanik



Sunday means I was supposed to take her out. Sunday means I wouldn't take any calls from my office mates. Sunday means she would sit unmoved with a stupid face pack for an hour or so, which means in that one hour I need to do everything that comes up. From giving away the clothes to the laundry guy to attending calls from my in-laws. Once I was peeing and half way I had to rush out of the toilet to take the call of my mother in law. Ah!! That pain was indescribable, all thanks to my bladder muscles for successfully holding back my ammoniated water.
How pathetic it was to answer to her- “How are you doing beta??”
I replied- “Doing great”. Can you please hang up, my bladder is bursting.
Just imagine all this use to happen in that span of one hour. Where I went crazy fixing those little things, she sat unmoved and unaware with a deep belief that in the next hour she would look ravishing. Girls, I tell you, just tell them to hold their breath for twenty minutes that they will be the sexiest creature on earth after that. I bet they will attempt to do that.
It was a goddamn Sunday again and my one hour was about to start. She was stirring the paste in a bowl and with that sight all I remembered was to unload myself with all sorts of biological pressures. Because the last thing I wanted was to rush out of the toilet once again, half way into peeing. Unlike every weekend I was in no mood to go out in this suffocating weather. With humidity scaling well above the ninety mark, I couldn't help being a lazy ass.
And my extremely busy one hour went like this- I gave way the washings to the laundry guy. Took the trash out. Shaved. Flipped a few pages of the sports section from the newspaper. Read about my horoscope. Gave a ‘Have a good day’ smile to my sexy neighbour, dreamt a date with her on the desolate stair case to terrace on a rainy afternoon. Prepared myself for at least fifty push up, gave up at ten. Went to the kitchen, prepared two cup of tea. Placed the bread in the toaster and came back to the living.

Her one hour went like this- Sitting…Breathing…Wondering. I will look sexier.
“Your chaai” I said placing her cup down on the side table as she finally dissolved her frozen state.
“Huh. How can I drink with this face pack?” she replied, slowly opening her eyes.

“Don’t drink…” I exclaimed holding back my smile while looking at her face. It resembled a thin crust pizza without toppings, except the fact that her pack smeared face appeared a tad whiter than the pre baked pizza base.
She left with an icy look. I concentrated on my tea. I desperately waited for her return; I really wanted to see the effects of that close to mayonnaise kind of thing on her face.
Ten minutes post she returned after having washed her face, I raised my chin in the hope of seeing something more glowing than the heavenly bodies, only to hang it back with a murmur – Kya time pass hai yaar. There was no change…!!
She sat beside me with the cup of tea in her hand I made for her. She placed back a streak of hair behind her ears that was falling across her cheek in a way not to touch her face.

Oh my god! She was so conscious about it. I hardly noticed a change.  
“Chai thandi ho gayi hai…” She spoke looking at me. The look wasn’t just a look, it was a ‘go and make it once again’ order. And for the first time ever in all my life I was developing a feeling of hatred for Sundays.
I was mentally preparing myself to make a fresh cup of tea once again. And on a weekend it really needs a lot on motivation to make me move my ass for something so called productive things, like “REMAKING” a cup of tea. Fuck!
‘Cheers’ I said holding my empty cup before her face.
“Hey…move….” She shrieked and jumped a feet back on the bed in sheer horror as if the cup carried a living cockroach winking to her from one of its corners. Her horrifying jump made the clammy tea pour out of the cup and stain her dress. My heart sank to see the silk bed sheet getting spoiled. Frankly I don’t care about her dress. I loved the bed sheet more. I got it from Lucknow when I went there on a business meet.
“You nuts…” she shouted.
“What happened? Just an empty cup…”
“Whatever. But what was the point of bringing it near my face??” She spoke in anger slightly shifting on the bed to see her in the mirror, just to be sure that the post mayonnaise effect on her face wasn’t disturbed.
Freak she is. I wondered. I got up and started to walk towards the kitchen.

“Now kindly make efforts to wash the bed sheet with your mayonnaise. Oh! Sorry, face pack.” I said smiling to myself. I turned to look at her expressions.

“Go to hell”. Yes, that’s what she said. I ignored and went to the kitchen, only to encounter yet another shit.

My utter inexperience of making a toast welcomed me to the kitchen with a cloud of fumes and a burning smell. Yes, the toast got brutally raped by the toaster, I mean burnt. And my inexperience lies in the fact of leaving the bread into the toaster with a timer of three minutes. With the fumes of a charred toast making way into my lungs I came to know that, three minutes can prepare you at least fifty toasts and I applied that time span to two. The outcome was justified….no regrets whatsoever.

This is what you call a super Sunday. Isn’t it?? Spilled tea followed up with charred toast. Not to forget the spoiled bed sheet. It had loads of painful yet pleasurable moments associated with it….the silky feel contributed to the “moment” as well. J
I did prepare the tea somehow but failed to prepare the toast once again as it suffered a short circuit due to overheating leaving me with no choice than to stuff an over baked toast or making something else. I was hell tired for the latter and she won’t accept the former. I was clueless.
I left kitchen with a plan B in my mind. As soon as I reappeared in the living, her expecting eyes seem to scan me to locate her cup of tea and the breakfast. It turned a tad sad tracing the absence of breakfast.
“Hey…you are looking awesome…I mean really hot…” I tried to make some efforts to suppress the topic of breakfast. But then cheesy lines can’t suppress hunger. My words ultimately can’t calm her hypothalamus. Simple as that!
“When did awesome turn out to be the synonym of hot??” She queried with a pissed of look taking her cup of tea from my hands.
“No. I mean you are looking fab. The pack really works.” My lazy mind was quick to substitute ‘mayonnaise’ with ‘face pack’. I sat close to her playing with her hair and doing everything that could save me from my breakfast making task.

“Oh! Really??” she faked a smile, her voice was tracing that she was convinced.

“Yes. No doubt about it. You know sweetheart, if you would have taken the screen test for Murder 3, Jacqueline would have been rendered jobless. You are looking ravishing babe.” I ended as my fingers were still gently caressing her creamy thighs resting behind her sexy night gown. I leaned against her as her throat gulped down the last sip of tea from the cup.
Accha…yeh toh mujhe bilkul v nahi pata tha…” she murmured.
 I avoided eye contact as my lips met her neck and was about to remove the ends of her night gown from her left shoulder when all my efforts went down the drain.
“Hang on…hang on…nothing doing right in the morning…” she smiled naughtily. “Where is the breakfast??” And her naughty smiles now appeals to me as an evil laugh.
“Babe…forget breakfast nah…we do that regularly. But aisa romantic morning har din thodi hota hai…” I replied; still not ready to accept the fault of spoiling the breads and also the toaster that came to my house in the form of ‘her-dad’s-love-towards-her’. Well, Dahej sounds too rude, its father-daughter love actually.

“Yaa…right…” Her convinced voice was back and with it I once again hugged her.
“Darling can you please make the breakfast for today. Maggi will do. I am too tired…and the toaster also passed away today.” I extended my sincere condolence.
“And the grief made you so romantic, right??” she mocked.

“Yeah, kind off” I mentally saluted my efforts and got back to romancing her.

“Leave. Maggi v banani hai….” She said pushing me and got down from the bed.
“Thank you. Love you...” I imitated a kiss. She smiled.
“…and yes…your mayonnaise works wonder….”
“Call it mayonnaise once again and I am not making Maggi” she replied sternly.

“Ok…Ok…Sorry…You are born beautiful…and grew up to become sexy…” I chuckled.

She bent down to plant a peck on my cheeks and left to serve our screaming tummies.


Author- Sobhan Pramanik,  
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