A Palette Called Me

My life is pretty simple.

Like a plate of salad.

Veggies here and there, minimal salt and spice.

Fruit salad is a must on Thursday and kiwi milkshake is a daily affair.

An occasional avocado doesn't hurt and pairs well with bestie brown bread on the side.

Chai acts as a canceled Monday morning lecture to this mix.

It's not like I never wanted an adventure.

Maybe the adventure never wanted me.

I looked at others who had their hearts as full as their stomach,

And wondered if I had that appetite.

One day, this routine got infected.

The missing spice was added in both the food and my life.

Someone took off the salad from my life's menu and added sweets.

Lots and lots of sweets.

Vegetable salads got replaced by pav bhaji around the nukkad.

Kiwi shake ran behind the khatti lassi.

A pair of eyes found mine between the inflated chole bhature and our hands met as we reached for the achaar.

Coffee took over the daily conversations and chai more of a solitary practice.

I was scared I could get diabetic attacks.

The sweet talk, sweet nudge, sweet tickle was confusing me.

My suspicion was cleared when we shared a strawberry shake together.

A glass with two straws left little to the imagination.

As I leaned and took a sip, he quickly jumped and did the same, making the shake million times sweeter than it was.

He liked to cook for me.

It started when I was sick and he cooked khichdi for me.

If not for the 102-degree temperature or earth-shattering headache, my tongue wouldn't have to bear that monstrosity.

But him feeding me by himself satisfied me enough by how the food was being served.

Who would know someone would fulfill your 2.30 am cravings and drive 20 minutes to get a plate of stale samosas?

The perfect date, with perfect coffee, perfect flowers, and the perfect person.

Asking for more would be like adding vegetables in Maggie.

But just like a plate of salad returns with a sudden reality check in the mirror,

Life checks reality and shows people, being real and not just a reflection.

My body needed a detox.

My stomach, an antacid.

My heart, a refund.

An empty heart hurts more than an empty stomach.

It forces you to do what you never thought you could.

Cooking at odd hours or crying at work hours, nothing is fixed.

My life went back to a salad.

A salad with finely chopped onions and freshly cut cucumber and laced with tender slices of tomatoes. Minimal salt to taste and generously spread red chili powder.

Perfectly paired with the kiwi juice and chai every evening.

Packet of straws was thrown in the trash and an oath taken of never drinking a strawberry shake.

Khichdi was perfected through YouTube and a coffee date fixed with my mum every Saturday.

Everything is smooth and straight,

Until I picked up a new taste for Italian pasta and the Italian who made me the pasta.

Manvi Rana

B.A. (H) History

Batch of 2024