The Art of Baking Cake

The Art of Baking Cake – Love Short Story
Photo credit: Maena from morguefile.com

Gajalakshmi Chatterjee was not a common name in the cosy neighborhood of Madhapur, nestled in the warm interiors of Hyderabad. This could have been one of the major reasons for her popularity in Greenwood Apartments, where she lived with her caretaker Sushila and a golden retriever named Sparky.

Just as her over-friendly dog shattered the stereotypical image of a widowed old woman living with her condescending cats, Lakshmi Amma, as the community lovingly called her, was someone brimming with energy and enthusiasm. Despite her frequent bouts of forgetfulness due to Alzheimer’s, her neighbours flocked over to her place in times of despair, happiness, or even for a simple evening chat.

However, Lakshmi Amma’s most faithful visitor was Kamakshi Raju, her gossip-loving neighbour who considered herself the prima donna of Greenwood. Her colourful stories ranged from the scandalous affair between her maid and the local security guard, to the new diet that had caused her colleague at office to lose 10 Kgs in three months. Despite Amma’s inability to remember any of these trivial escapades, her buttery smile caused the wrinkles on her face to pucker up while she listened attentively, adding to the warm twinkle in her kind eyes.

Kamakshi’s most recent cause of worry was her husband. Almost on the verge of a filing for a divorce, she filled Gajalakshmi’s head with tales of his long working hours and possible infidelity.

“He comes home so late, even on days when his colleague’s wife posts stuff like ‘Going out for a romantic dinner with my hubby’ as her status on facebook. I know that her husband and mine usually leave at the same time. There has to be something going on,” wailed Kamakshi while sitting in Amma’s house, who stroked her hair and fed her pieces of Mysore Pak, a South Indian sweet made from Gram Flour.

The one influence that Kamakshi did have on Amma was an introduction to blogging.

“Oh Amma, you cook like a professional chef!”

exclaimed Kamakshi one sunny day, while chomping on steamed rice mixed with mango chutney. Since she worked for a media company and owned five of her own blogs, Kamakshi created one for Lakshmi Amma.

“From now on, I’ll type your recipes out, along with any commentary you might want to add. That way, we’ll be able to save all the wonderful recipes stored in your head, and the world will get a taste of your lip-smacking creations,” stated an enthusiastic Kamakshi.

Gajalakshmi was the oldest daughter in a poor labourer’s family. With eight siblings, it was hard to make ends meet. Due to lack of funds, her mother began working as a cook in a wealthy neighborhood, often accompanied by her feisty daughter. Lakshmi experimented back at home, cooking for her siblings with only her sense of smell and an incredible ability to estimate ingredients with accuracy. This was how she met her husband, Sumantra Chatterjee. When she was eighteen, her mother took her to a wealthy household in Banjara Hills. Lakshmi’s excitement was palpable, as she had heard a lot about this family from her equally ecstatic mother.

“Their sofa is made of pure leather, and they even have a marble staircase at home! They eat a lot of fish, so I need you to impress them by producing the best Chapalla Pulusu (Fish curry) you have ever made,” she said, squeezing Amma’s hand in wonder as they looked around at the palatial houses surrounding us.

“What happened next?”

Asked Kamakshi, temporarily pausing her typing and looking at Amma expectantly. However, Gajalakshmi’s eyes had glazed over, and she didn’t seem to hear anything. Kamakshi sighed and saved the recipe of Fish curry as a draft, to be published on a new day. Their food blog, called ‘Amma’s Home-made treats’ had become a major hit online within two weeks. Amma herself seemed to be addicted to this new technology, and Sushila or Kamakshi would often find their dear old lady dozing in front of the computer after having delightedly stared at the comments her viewers had left her for more than an hour. She could almost login to the blog on her own now, except that she rarely remembered the password or even the name of the blog. At times, the fact that it existed slipped from her fragile mind.

“I don’t know what to do Sushila,” whispered Kamakshi about a month later.

“The blog is doing really well, but Amma is getting so tired. Her memory lapses are also starting to get more frequent. She is almost Seventy-Five; I don’t know how long I can keep her up to this. Already, she is starting to mix up ingredients and she seems to be forgetting steps.”

For Kamakshi, this blog was a portal into a happier world, where she could temporarily let go of the stress in her life and escape into the inviting virtual realm. The blogging world was like a drug that helped her stay sane while her marriage broke into pieces around her. Adding to this was the comfort of Amma’s voice as she narrated a million recipes from the depths of her fragile memory, giving glimpses into her colourful past and hinting at a beautiful story of love and happiness. A love Kamakshi longed to know more about, as her belief in her own happy-ending was slipping as the days past.

A sudden clash and bang, causing Sparky to let out an incessant stream of barks, brought her out of the daydream and she rushed towards the kitchen along with a worried Sushila. They ran into the kitchen to find Lakshmi Amma standing within, fiddling with the brand new Microwave oven purchased for her by Kamakshi, and covered with a thin layer of flour.

“What do you think you’re doing Amma? Did you hurt yourself?” said Kamakshi, hurrying towards her.

“Sumantra brought this for me from the US, on my 40^th birthday. He then asked me to bake a simple chocolate cake using it; his aunt had sent the recipe from the states. I want to add this cake to our recipes online,” she said, with a confident smile.

“Amma, the blog contains traditional Indian recipes, from Andhra and Bengal! We can’t add a chocolate cake recipe!” exclaimed a perplexed Kamakshi.

“I failed to make it correctly for my husband when I tried for the first time. I have never touched the microwave after that and I just sold the one he got me. But now that it is back in my kitchen, I will bake the cake for Sumantra and offer him a perfect slice,” finished an adamant Gajalakshmi.

Kamakshi stood at the kitchen doorway, horrified at the realisation that her old mentor seemed to have forgotten the fact that her husband had been dead for ten years. She slowly bent down and picked up the over-turned bowl that had contained flour, and placed it on the platform. “Okay Amma, as you wish,” she said softly.

She brought her laptop into the kitchen and placed it on her lap as Amma fumbled around, looking for the sheet of paper that had contained the precious recipe. After what seemed like an hour, she found it at the bottom of a drawer full of cookbooks and gave Kamakshi a triumphant smile, bringing tears to her eyes.

“When I had presented the fish curry to the Chatterjee family, they ate the entire plate, smacking their lips and demanding for more. Then I went back into the kitchen and their twenty-one year old son sneaked up on me and whispered that he wanted to eat this dish forever. I continued going to their house for the next few months, and before I knew what was happening, he had caused an uproar by asking for my hand in marriage. My mother was disgraced as she thought I was sleeping with him and had gotten pregnant, but the truth was that my food had worked its charm. It had brought my prince to me,” said Amma while Kamakshi watched her deft hands sifting the flour and cocoa.

The microwave beeped twenty minutes later, and when its door was opened, the house was filled with the heavenly aroma of freshly baked cake.

“I will wait for Sumantra now,” said Amma, placing the cake on a beautiful porcelain plate and setting it on the dining table. The graceful old woman pat the microwave like an old friend before switching off the lights in the kitchen and settling down on a chair next to her cake.

That night, Kamakshi walked into her bedroom to find that her husband had just arrived. She stared at his tired, worn out face for a while, then walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a warm embrace. The sun began to set outside, and for the first time, both women looked out of their respective windows, waiting for the dawn of a new day.

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