Chapter 16: Tears on the Tawa
At the first murge ki baang, Anjali got up quietly.
She mixed aata in a steel bowl, took a plastic bora to the west room for lehsun.
Her chudiyaan jingled as she worked. Ghar was cool, air heavy with neend.
Lehsun was from their own khet, fresh this year. Anjali picked the biggest, best bulbs to pack.
In city, lehsun is expensive—the best can be sauon ka kilo. She wanted to send plenty, so Jitendra could eat and share at kaam, make goodwill.
She carried lehsun to the main kamra, took out achaar ka jar.
Jitendra loved these—her special: fresh mirchi, split, mixed with rai, hing, namak—green and teekhi, perfect with rice.
She took out two sweet parcels—sohan papdi, kaju katli she’d bought from market. Sohan papdi was golden, kaju katli was juicy, sprinkled with cheeni, like a kahani ki mithai.
Jitendra loved these treats—he couldn’t get them at kaam.
Whatever Jitendra liked, Anjali yaad rakhti thi.
Once packed in the bora, the dough was ready—soft, smooth, like a woman’s pet.
Time for rotis.
Neighbour’s radio played Patna news, somewhere a baccha cried. Anjali wiped her hands and got to work, dil full of worry and garv.