—
Not Bad?
THUD! THUMP! Crash!
That is more than the day breaking. It is Rafiq Uncle. I run out of my room to see what’s going on. Rafiq Uncle’s baggage, it seems, got dropped on the floor. That’s why he is now yelling at the istri lady’s son, Selvaraj.
“What do you think, this is a sack of onions? That suitcase costs money, my boy. Money!”
Selvaraj is straightening up the suitcase and trying to dust it off. He is trying to say it was a mistake and he is sorry, but no one can get a word in, once Rafiq Uncle gets going.
“Oh, Yasmin, is it?” Rafiq Uncle says, turning his attention to me.
Selvaraj makes a quick getaway, grabbing the rupee notes that Umma slips him to make up for my uncle’s rudeness.
Wapa takes his big brother’s bags into the extra bedroom. Umma puts out breakfast. I get a lecture on the evils of living in the big city.
Umma has made puttu for breakfast, which I love-love-love for its grated coconut and soft steamed morsels of rice that melt in your mouth.
We eat for a while in grateful silence. Even Rafiq Uncle is silenced by the dreaminess of that puttu. Soon the big plate is down to one last piece. Rafiq Uncle and I both stretch out our hands at the same time.
I meet his eyes. He opens his mouth.
“You have it, Uncle,” I say quickly. “I have to go to school.”
He snaps his lips shut, as if he is disappointed that he can’t scold me for being greedy.
As I put my plate in the sink and wash my hands, I hear him saying, through his last mouthful of puttu, “Not bad, Nadira. Not bad at all.”
Not bad? My Umma makes the best puttu in the whole world. Now I wish I had grabbed that last piece. Rafiq Uncle doesn’t deserve it.