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It was lunch time. Fatima had promised that when the lunch got over, she will sing a song for Raj and Nisha.
Fatima took them to a nearby restaurant next to a nice, languorous river. Chairs and tables were placed in the open covered by a roof so that visitors could enjoy the view while having their lunch. The restaurant looked popular as it was jam packed with tourists. Nisha heard people chatting and laughing. They were taken to a table adjacent to the river, which was great.
“Are you in a mood to try our traditional lamb kebabs?” asked Fatima.
“Sounds great. Why not?” said Nisha.
“I’m so glad to hear that. These lamb kebabs or Kebab Testi as we call it in Turkish is a specialty of this region,” said Fatima.
“Really? Then please do order some,” said Raj.
Fatima smiled. Her pink cheeks flushed.
“How about soup?” asked Fatima.
“Yes, why not?” said Nisha.
“I think you should try our yoghurt soup as well. It is called Yayla Çorbası in Turkish,” said Fatima.
“Wow. Sounds fantastic. What did you say Chor?” said Nisha.
“Çorbası. In Turkish, a soup is called Çorbası. It is pronounced as Chorbasi,” said Fatima.
“Aaahhhh. You know in India, a soup is called Shorba with a ‘Sh’ sound,” said Nisha.
“Yes, sounds very familiar. Shorba and Chorbasi,” said Raj.
“Oh great—then I’ll order them for you. I’ll also add a Turkish green salad which you can munch on while waiting for the kebabs. Enjoy your meal. Once you’re done, I’ll meet you outside the restaurant,” said Fatima. She disappeared.
Both Raj and Nisha were quiet, enjoying the view. Nisha saw the reflection of leafless trees in the black river water. She saw a few ducks making noises and swimming towards them. The ducks looked at Nisha and suddenly climbed out of the water to the river shore. The restaurant deck was at a height so the ducks couldn’t climb up there. But all of them looked at Nisha quacking, fluttering their wings and definitely expecting something.
“Why are these ducks looking at me and making so much noise?” asked Nisha.
“Well probably they like you,” joked Raj.
Nisha looked at Raj and smiled: “You rascal.”
“I think the ducks expect you to feed them. I’m sure tourists would be throwing tit-bits of bread or whatever in the water and the ducks love picking them up. They are now so spoiled that they probably expect this from every tourist,” said Raj thinking aloud.
“Yeah, I think so,” said Nisha.
Her attention turned towards the other side. She saw a lot of cats roaming around—wild or otherwise. The cats went from table to table with no fear of humans.
“Maooooooooooo,” said a white cat.
The tourists looked at the cat (whether it was a “he” or a “she” Nisha didn’t know for sure) and adored it.
“Ooohhhhhhhh she’s so cute,” said a tourist and patted the cat. The cat purred. Then she went to another table and another one. It looked to Nisha—that the cat loved being patted on the back. No one appeared to mind them. The white cat soon came to Nisha’s table.
“Maooooooooooo,” purred the white cat.
“Oooohhhh I’m not fond of cats. Sorry baby. No patting—this time,” said Nisha.
The cat meowed again and then left disappointed.
“Did you see the expression on the cat’s face?” laughed Raj.
“Yeah, I know. She was deeply disappointed. But I couldn’t help,” laughed Nisha.
They suddenly saw a waiter approaching towards them with two bowls of soup and a green salad on a tray.
“Here is your salad madame and sir, and your soup,” said the waiter placing the bowls on the table.
“Thank you so much,” said Nisha.
“Enjoy your meal madame and sir. Kebab Testi will be arriving in a few more minutes,” smiled the waiter. Raj and Nisha nodded and smiled back.
The soup had a very nice smell of yoghurt cooked with mint. Nisha grabbed a soup spoon and tasted. Her taste buds had deadened because of the chemo but the flavours still got through.
“Ummmm, the soup is amazing,” said Nisha.
“Oh, wow,” agreed Raj.
Nisha then picked at the salad. It looked very different from the salads served in Western cuisine. It had no lettuce but instead had chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, green bell peppers, onion, and flat-leaf parsley. Except for some lemon juice, it had no other dressing.
When she tasted the salad, it reminded her of—home.
“Hey my mom used to make a similar salad with chopped onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers with a sprinkle of lemon juice,” said Nisha.
“Yes. The salad is culturally very close to India,” admitted Raj.
“Here is your Kebab Testi sir and madame,” said the waiter.
Nisha was surprised to look at the dish. There were no kebabs. Only a mud coloured hot clay pot. Apparently, Turks slow-cook chopped lamb in an earthen clay pot for three to four hours. When the waiter opened the pot, it smelled of cooked lamb, tomatoes and fresh thyme leaves.
Nisha’s couldn’t wait to try the dish. The waiter poured a few pieces of cooked lamb on her plate and then on Raj’s. She took a bite. The lamb was tender, a bit sour because of the tomatoes and olive oil, with a hint of chilly. She was glad that the Turkish chilly was not as hot as the Indian one. Of late her constitution was rebelling at the very sight of the Indian green or red chillies.
The dish was interesting. Very different. Nisha didn’t hate the dish—for sure. But she didn’t love it either. Nisha thought she could certainly share some tit bits of this dish with the ducks but wasn’t sure if that would not insult the chef.
So she broke away a few pieces from the Naan bread that was served alongside the kebabs and threw them at the ducks when she thought no one was looking. The ducks rushed to the deck below and created quite a ruckus fighting for the tit bits.
Raj was taken aback for a moment and then was impressed with the enthusiasm that the ducks were displaying.
“Come on you duck heads, and thank the person who has let you taste such exquisite Naans for the first time in your lives,” Raj muttered in Hindi and grinning from ear to ear.
He also silently hoped that the happier ducks would then pray for Nisha’s health and well-being.
“How about some dessert sir and madame,” asked the waiter.
“Oh no. Thank you. I think we’re done,” said Raj.
“But you haven’t tried our famous Baklava,” the waiter was persisting.
But film folks can’t indulge their sweet tooth, Raj sighed.
A look at Nisha and Raj knew that she was in the mood to try everything.
“Okay. Just 0ne plate please,” said Raj.
“Right away sir,” said the waiter.
In a few minutes the waiter came with a plate of—what looked like—brown puff pastry.
“Let me try one,” said Nisha. She picked up a piece and put it in her mouth.
It tasted like a layered sweet puff pastry—with chopped crispy nuts—and honey and sugar syrup.
“Ummmm, nice, very nice,” said Nisha. She closed her eyes to enjoy the baklava.
Raj also then took a bite in comradeship but let Nisha finish off the rest.
They were soon done and got up. Fatima had already paid up for their meals, as part of their sight-seeing package, and was waiting for them outside the restaurant. All three got inside the black SUV and drove off.
“I promised that I’ll sing a song for you. May I?” said Fatima.
“Oh please. We’d love to hear you sing,” said Nisha.
Fatima then sang a song in Turkish. Nisha and Raj couldn’t make head or tail of the song. But Nisha appreciated the passion. Fatima sang with a lot of joy, energy and enthusiasm. Her rhythm was great. Like a typical Turk, she stretched “uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh” sound a lot.
“Bravo. Bravo,” said Nisha. Both Raj and Nisha clapped in appreciation.
“Now it’s your turn. Sing me a nice Hindee song,” demanded Fatima.
“Me. I don’t sing,” said Raj.
He looked towards Nisha. He knew she was a fabulous singer but her voice was gone.
“I’ll sing a song for you, Fatima,” finally said Nisha.
“Really? I want to hear ‘Aavaara huun,’” said Fatima.
Aah, Aavaara huun, thought Raj. That song had become very popular internationally—especially in Russia and China. Apparently the song was one of Chairman Mao’s favourites. But Raj didn’t know that it would be popular in Turkey as well.
There was something about the song, about a vagabond who thought he was a fallen star, that had touched the chord of millions—both Hindi as well as non-Hindi speakers. In a May 2013 BBC poll, the song was rated as the second-greatest Bollywood song of all time.
“My pleasure,” said Nisha.
“aavaaraa huun, aavaaraa huun
yaa gardish men huun aasamaan kaa taaraa huun
aavaaraa huun, aavaaraa huun,” sang Nisha.
Her voice wasn’t—what it used to be. Nevertheless, she sang with a lot of passion. And it was beautiful.
“Bravo. Bravo,” clapped Fatima. The driver too clapped.
“Thank you,” said Nisha. She smiled.
“And now it is time to dance,” said Fatima.
“Dance?” Raj was startled. Wasn’t Fatima going overboard, and when she was almost six months pregnant?
But Fatima was undeterred. She inserted a CD in the SUV’s music system. The music that blared out was—of a Turkish hand drummer. Also known as a Darbuka.
For those of you who don’t know how a Turkish hand drum sounds like, go to You Tube and type “10 Darbuka rhythms” and you’ll know in an instant.
The rhythms changed. The hand drummer sometimes became fast and sometimes incredibly slow and then it picked up again. The net result—everyone felt like dancing to the tune.
Fatima asked the driver to stop. It was in the middle of nowhere. The terrain looked so arid and austere. The hills at a distance were covered with snow. It was afternoon and fortunately the weather had warmed up. Just a wee bit. Fatima got down from the SUV and started dancing. She swayed her hips. Her hand and feet were moving in a rhythm.
“Come on everybody. Join me,” said Fatima.
Nisha was a little hesitant initially but Fatima’s enthusiasm and energy, and that too in her pregnant condition, touched her. And she soon joined Fatima. They swayed together. Raj watched silently. But not for too long.
Fatima grabbed his hand and asked him to join in. All three danced together. Fatima did a cobra dance, in which she made her hands like an erect cobra. Ready to hiss. Ready to bite. Raj and Nisha too swayed and twisted down together. Then both of them did the cobra dance. The Fairy Chimneys watched them. In deep admiration.
“Woooaaaaaa that was fun. Fatima you were fun to dance with,” said Nisha. She laughed flashing once again her perfect teeth.
“My pleasure,” Fatima smiled back.
Coming back, Fatima took them to a dry fruits shop in Urgup. The seller sold almonds, black Turkish apricots, dates and figs as sweet as honey. Both Raj and Nisha freaked out ordering stuff. The seller proudly displayed a picture of himself with Nicolas Cage, the famous Hollywood Actor. Apparently Nicolas Cage had visited Cappadocia some time ago to shoot a film.
Fatima then dropped them back to their cave hotel. Nisha thanked Fatima again before entering the hotel. But Fatima noticed something. Nisha didn’t look too well. She was coughing and wheezing once in a while. Fatima touched Nisha’s forehead and knew in an instant—that Nisha had fever.
“Are you alright?” asked Fatima.
“Yes, just a little tired”, answered Nisha.
Nisha nodded towards Raj who hurriedly tipped Fatima.
Fatima thanked them and wished them a happy journey.
