D had bought it a few months before we started dating, so his friends concluded that Bullets came with a steady girlfriend; a few boys in his neighbourhood offered to buy it from him. The Bullet also came with something else – a Voice. You could hear it long before it came into view. Dhhig-dhhig-dhhig. Slow, steady, loud. Like a good heart. For me, that sound came to mean many things, because it was the sound of D arriving, returning. The end of a small waiting.
One evening – a few months into our relationship, much before we were married – I was at home watching TV with Baba, when my ears picked up the sound of a Bullet entering our building complex; we lived on the fourth floor. The sound made me sit up straight, heartbeat up a notch. But then, remembering Baba next to me, I quickly feigned a relaxed posture. I stretched, and slowly got up, muttering something about fresh air. I made my way towards the balcony, adopting what I thought was a splendidly purposeless walk. I’d taken no more than five steps when–
“It’s not him,” Baba said, without taking his eyes off the telly.
My Baba – as sharp as the edge of a new page. There’s not much you could ever sneak past him. Later that day, I learnt that someone else in the building had bought a Bullet. Damn, I thought, I didn’t need the confusion. In a few days though, my ears had worked out the difference in sounds, and came to the unbiased conclusion that the sound of D’s Bullet was far sweeter.
So, that’s how it always was – D, me and the Bullet. It’s the way our old friends remember us. Seated on it, D and I got to know each other better, we talked and laughed, argued and made up, planned things, escaped for a few hours. D would pick me up from college after classes – that famed ‘lobby’ of Jadavpur University – and off we would go, without a plan. Years later, after we were married, he’d be there waiting with the Bullet next to my office to pick me up from work.
When we left Calcutta, we had to sell the Bullet. I don’t have a single photograph of it – of us riding it, standing by it, near it. Not one. We didn’t take many photographs in those days. I wish we had one though, just to show Chotto-ma.
Even though our Bullet found a new home, just like we did, there are a few things which haven’t changed. The sound of D arriving, returning, still makes me sit up like it used to. Only now, it’s not the dhhig-dhhig-dhhig of a bullet, but the slam of a car door, footsteps up the stairs. And we still find ways to escape for a few hours.
Every once in a while, we both take the day off work, drop Chotto-ma at school, and keep the day for ourselves. We did that last week. Took the day off, took a long walk, sat by the river, talked. Discovered a new street, narrow and crammed with gardens. Stopped at a pub for a drink. Ate a perfectly cooked Thai meal. We browsed our favourite bookshop. Picked a fern for Chotto-ma. Then, sat at a cafe, till it was time to pick her up from school. D read the newspaper. I wrote a little poem on a magnetic poetry board, which, having lost most of its words, stood by the cafe window gathering dust.
I also did something else last weekend. I came up with a sublime little dessert. ‘Sublime’, because there is no other word for it. We had friends over, and I wanted something quick, simple. I also wanted something seasonal and cold. But: nearly no work.
I had a few ingredients at home – a pot of mascarpone, coconut milk, one lone apple and a bowl of cherries. Together, they sang. It was the stuff of sonatas, I tell you.
Stewed Apples & Cherries in a Mascarpone-Coconut Cocktail
2 apples, cut into small cubes
10 large cherries, pit removed and quartered
3-4 tbs mascarpone
1 1/2 cup coconut milk
1 star anise
Cashew or pecan nut to top (or a sprig of mint)
Add apples, cherries, coconut milk, star anise and 1 tbsp sugar in a pan and put to heat.
Simmer gently for a minute, and fish out the star anise.
Continue to simmer till the coconut milk is all gone and the fruit is tender. It’ll all be a lovely cherry colour.
Take it off the heat. Add 3 to 4 tbs-dollops of mascarpone into the warm, stewed fruit.
Add sugar to taste. Stir it all in.
Spoon it into cocktail glasses, top with a nut or a sprig of mint and refrigerate for 40 minutes to set.
Take it out 10 minutes before serving.