The Things That Mummy Taught Us

Naina’s cup of tea was always strong. Brewed till it was the right color, blended well with the right amount of milk and tea leaves. The sugar had to be just the perfect amount, not too much, not too little. She exhaled a long sigh after taking the first sip. 

Naina stood in her kitchen in Singapore, a cup in her hand, staring out the window as the city hummed below her. It was distant, orderly, and efficient. The kind of place where nothing spills over. Not time. Not emotions. Everything was balanced. Or did it just seem to be? 

With her two children off at school, Naina was dressed to head out to work. Her husband, Ashu, had already left earlier that morning. 

She took the last sip of tea and smiled to herself, recalling her mother’s sweet words: "Make me a nice cup of tea. And please make it strong.” 

Her mother had passed, but Naina’s memories of her mother rested in her heart like a voice that no longer spoke, yet somehow still guided her every single day. 

Somewhere in Gurgaon, in a noisier apartment, another cup of tea was being made. This one, too, was strong, just the way their mother liked it. But Naina was no longer there to taste it. Her younger sister, Kavya, had just finished her online meetings and sat down by the window with a second cup of tea. She looked at the wall clock and sighed. ‘The kids would be home soon from school,’ she thought. She remembered how their mother used to welcome her and her sister from school… thanda nimbu pani followed by simple yet delicious home-made dal chawal with aam ka aachar - mango pickle. Her mouth began to water. ‘Nothing could beat Mummy’s home-cooked food,’ she smiled to herself. Just then, her phone pinged. It was time for her next online meeting. 

The two sisters, Naina and Kavya, didn’t talk any longer. 

Not really. However, there were occasional text messages, of course. 

Happy Birthday!

Hope all is well. 

How are the kids?

And certainly a few pictures of the children. 

There was still a connection, but not as deep as the two sisters had shared as they were growing up. It was the kind of connection that checks a box but doesn’t open a door. 

Time was different when they were little. Their home was constantly filled with joy, love, commotion, and a happy kind of chaos. That time, silence never existed between them. Their mornings began with arguments over the bathroom. Their nights ended with whispered conversations under the same blanket. This was the time when everything… every small, silly, important thing was shared. 

But then life happened. 

They each married and began new lives in separate cities, different countries. The distance consumed them. And somewhere in between, a disagreement that wasn’t even their own ruined it all. Their husbands didn’t get along. Words were said in anger that were left freezing in the air.  

Both sisters tried to make it work, to repair and recover, to make life, hopefully, better, because there was no chance it would ever be the same again. 

The phone calls continued… visits now and then. But as time passed, their conversations became measured. They were less open and more formal. Often, it felt like they were censoring themselves before speaking. 

Until one day… it just became easier not even to call, not even pretend. 

That Friday, Naina scrolled through her phone late at night. Her daughter was asleep. Her husband was not at home. He was on a work trip. The house was quiet. She paused on a photo… Kavya’s son. His birthday photo. He had turned six: messy face, wide grin. Naina almost typed… he’s grown so much. But her fingers hovered. Naina put away her phone and closed her eyes. ‘It’s already late… I’ll text her tomorrow,’ she told herself and fell off to sleep. 

But she did not text or call the following day. 

Back in Gurgaon, Kavya cooked suji ka halwa. 

Her son took a bite and said, “Mumma! This tastes just like how Nani used to make it. Remember?”

Kavya smiled. “At least something rubbed off on me … I inherited her cooking skills.”

“Okay.. but wait. Naina masi cooks really well, too. So you can’t take all the credit,’ her son added.

‘I still remember her hot, hot aloo parathas she made long ago.’ He took another spoonful of halwa and then added, ‘Mumma…’

“Yes, beta,” Kavya replied. 

“When are we all going to meet again? As in… be together again?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a really long time,” Kavya sighed. 

The following Monday, Kavya’s phone rang. 

“Papa isn’t well. The doctor said it’s nothing serious. But I think age is catching up,” Naina said. “He sounds weak and frail.”

“He has never sounded like this before. Not even after Mummy passed,” Kavya added. “Are you coming?”

“I’ve already booked my tickets,” Naina replied. “You?”

“I’ve just finished packing.”

The house smelled the same. Old wood. Haldi. Something warm and familiar that hadn’t changed. Kavya stepped in first. Naina arrived a few hours later. The two sisters met in the drawing room. They smiled and embraced each other with a careful hug. They continued with the usual round of hi-how-are-you… how was your journey?

They sit. Not too close, yet too far. 

“Where is Papa?” Naina asked. 

“I’m not too sure. He wasn’t here when I arrived. So, I called him. He said he would reach home in a few hours.”

“Is he at the hospital?” Naina sounded concerned. 

“No, actually, he said he was out. That’s all he said,” Kavya shrugged her shoulders. 

“Oh, my!” Naina went silent. 

“Sounds weird if you ask me,” Kavya said. “But he’s always been like that, right?”

The two gave each other an awkward smile. 

A few hours later, the sisters heard an autorikshaw halt in front of the house. They peeked out of the window and saw their old man pay the driver and step out of the rick. He had a walking stick in one hand and a carry bag in the other. 

The sisters charged to the front door to let him inside. 

“Oh… you both are here,” he beamed as he entered the house. He opened his arms, pulling both his daughters into a long hug.

“Where have you been?” Naina asked. 

“I went to meet my friend,” Papa smiled. 

“To play cards?” Kavya added. 

“Old habits die hard. And then I went to buy some fresh chicken.”

“Chicken?” Naina raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, it’s been ages since I’ve had your mother’s special chicken. 

“You want to eat chicken? But we thought you were unwell? And you sounded so weak over the phone.”

Papa began to laugh. “Sometimes I have to be a bit cheeky. And my plan worked. I have both my daughters under one roof. And we are going to eat delicious chicken curry with hot, hot chapatis for dinner. I’m already drooling thinking about it.”

The two sisters gave each other a long stare but remained silent. 

“I’ll marinate it,” Kavya said, taking the carry bag to the kitchen.

The little family continued through the rest of the day just as they used to. The sisters made evening tea, watered the plants, and soon began to prepare their mother’s special chicken. 

The kitchen felt smaller with the two of them in it. Or maybe it was just the silence that took up more space than it should have.

The marinated chicken sat on the counter, resting in a large steel bowl, coated in spices that filled the room with an aromatic familiar smell. 

Kavya stood by the stove, pouring oil into the kadai. Naina hovered near the counter, glancing at the jars and containers that hadn’t moved in years.

“Haldi is in the second drawer,” Naina said, without looking at her.

The oil began to heat.

Kavya added the jeera followed by the onions. 

“They need to brown properly,” Naina said. “Mummy never rushed this step.”

“I know… I’m not rushing,” Kavya replied, her voice even.

A few seconds later.

“They’re not there yet,” Naina added, reaching for the spoon.

Kavya pulled it back, just slightly. “I said I’m not rushing.”

The onions sizzled, turning slowly.

Naina stepped back but didn’t move away. “You used to rush this,” she said, almost to herself.

“Mummy would always say… patience.”

Kavya turned this time. “And you would just stand there and watch.”

Naina looked at her. “At least I was there.”

Kavya let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, really?”

The onions had begun to catch at the edges.

“You left, Naina,” she said, turning back to the pan but not really seeing it. “You don’t get to come back and correct everything.”

“I didn’t leave you,” Naina said, quieter now, but sharper.

Kavya’s grip tightened on the ladle. “But you did.”

The onions were ready now, maybe a second too long.

Kavya added the crushed garlic, followed by the pureed tomatoes and green chilies. 

Neither of them lowered the flame.

“You think I forgot?” Naina said. “You think I don’t remember how she made this?” She picked up the masala dani and added the needed ingredients to the kadai. 

“I think,” Kavya said, her voice tightening, “that you don’t know what it was like after you left.”

The oil began to separate too quickly. The masala stuck at the bottom.

“You think it was easy for me?” Naina shot back.

“I didn’t say that,” Kavya replied. “But you had your own life. I didn’t have that luxury.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The flame stayed high.

The masala darkened.

“Add the chicken,” Naina said suddenly, glancing at the bowl.

“Give it a minute,” Kavya replied.

“It’ll burn.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

Kavya added the chicken to the kadai while Naina looked over her sister’s shoulder just to make sure she was doing it correctly. 

Kavya turned to her, eyes flashing. “Stop telling me what to do.”

“And stop pretending you’re the only one who remembers her!”

The two felt such fury for each other that they left the kitchen. One went to the bedroom and the other to the bathroom to get a hold of their emotions. 

The stove was left on high as the chicken began to cook. Soon, the masala had caught the bottom of the kadai. 

Just then, Papa walked in, his voice light as he entered.

“I could smell the chicken from outside, and I thought…”

He stopped.

The kitchen was empty. He noticed smoke coming from the kadai on the stove. 

It was not even close to his wife’s special chicken dish. 

Kavya rushed into the kitchen and found the stove already off. Papa gave her a disapproving look. 

Naina stepped inside the kitchen. 

For a moment, no one said anything.

“We… we were just,” Kavya began, but the words didn’t come.

Naina looked at their father. “Sorry, Papa.”

Kavya followed, softer now. “We ruined it.”

The kitchen, which had once held the warmth of their mother’s cooking, now carried the sharp, lingering smudge that was darkening their lives. 

And neither of them knew how to fix it.

“Let me tell you a story about your mother,” Papa said, taking a seat at the table. 

His daughters stood still, giving their full attention. 

“Long ago, your mother and I got into an argument. It didn’t end well. She went to the kitchen to prepare the same chicken recipe. And to be honest, that was a disaster too. It was nearly charcoal.”

The sisters exchanged looks but didn’t utter a word. 

“Apparently, she put all her rage, frustration, and sorrow into that dish she was trying to prepare. And it turned out to be nasty. That night, I was so angry that I went to sleep hungry. Although she did prepare something else to eat, I just bluntly refused to eat it.” Papa let out a long sigh. 

“We’re sorry, Papa,” Naina said softly. 

“I know you are sorry. I know both of you are sorry. But that’s not the point,” Papa said. “There is a reason why I have brought my daughters under the same roof. Again. Uprooting them from their regular lives. Bringing them all the way back to their first home. Do you know why?”

The two nodded their heads slowly. 

“I believe you both need some time together. You were once so close. And I sense you have lost touch with that. I had hoped that the love you held for each other would last you all your lives. Maybe together we can find a way back to that. I don’t think this would have happened if your mother were still here. Life is short. Live it. Together. In Harmony.”  

The sisters’ eyes welled up with tears as they regarded their father. 

“Now, now. Come on.” He pulled his daughters into a hug. “Now get dressed. Let’s grab some dinner at our usual restaurant. My stomach is rumbling more than ever.”