Monday, March 28, 2011

(I can't think of any)

He woke up even before the alarm clock went off. Softly but quickly. With a sense of purpose. I sleepily rub my eyes, feeling envious. He slept later than me. He had a longer day yesterday, than I did. Then why do I feel so tired? Maybe he just does not like to sleep in as much as I do! I don’t rush out of bed to make him coffee. But I ask him, if I should. He says he is in a hurry, he will drink it later. (He has to rush to his father’s clinic to cover the floor with a linoleum sheet before the throng of patients arrive. The floor is being worked on. ) I know for sure he would love that cup of coffee. He loves his morning mug. He even has specific instructions on how it should be made.

a time for a cup of coffee

Take ¾ cup of milk and let it boil. Take ¼ cup water and heat it in the microwave. To this add I teaspoon coffee powder (Bru instant) and 1 and ½ tsp sugar and make a coffee syrup. Add the boiling milk to this. Stir well. Pour the coffee back and forth from cup1 to cup 2 to froth. Rinse the cup so that it is cool to the touch. Pour into the cool cup. Sip over the day’s newspaper or at the computer.
He can even sense the change in proportions. Too milky or too watery. Too much coffee or too less. Milma milk or Nestle Dairy whitener. Bru or Nescafe. And then he’ll ask, “Did you make it how I have taught you?” I roll my eyes each time.

I have a baby lying in bed next to me. A two and half feet long excuse. How can I leave and go downstairs to make coffee? Who will watch the baby? I start feeling bad for not waking up earlier. I hate it when I wake up feeling bad about myself. I start speculating as to what my mother in law will think of me. I start wondering why I don’t respond to alarm clocks. Guilt trip! I realize I am still lying in bed and my husband is opening the front door to leave. I hear his mother call him and give him his coffee. Damn! I feel like the inadequate ‘bahu’. I reassure myself that since his father was joining him on the errand, his mother was making coffee anyway. But if she could wake up so early, why couldn’t I?


Well she has no baby excuse. And too many cooks spoil the broth anyway.
I cuddle next to my baby and sleep some more. All is well again. Sleep is such a wonderful thing.

I want to ask him how he came upon his ‘perfect’ coffee. His elixir for the day. His drive and his passion and his eternal optimism. His raison d’etre. That definite “sense of purpose”. Is it inherent or is it acquired? And how about that ‘confidence’? That feeling of self-assurance, that freedom from doubt, he no need of constant approval. If only I could get all that in a bottle, just one teaspoon of it would make my perfect coffee. The one I would set my alarm for. The one I would want to rise to.

Its been ages since I posted. I start and then run out of juice. Or out of ideas. Or out of time. I get bored. Or too critical. But I feel I should give it another chance. Every great blog piece I read keeps calling me to write. Maybe someone will read it. Maybe not. But that is fine. Right now this is for me.

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