“Hi family!” I grin brightly at the assembly - my mother, elder sister, and twin brother – while posing with a plate of dosa and podi.
Ma, Akka, and Nipun look up from their meal at me. I continue to grin at them, till Ma feels compelled to ask a very pertinent question:
“Harshi, why are you giving us that creepy smile?”
“I’m not being creepy!” I protest, defending my bright smile. “I have to write an article for this month’s issue, and the topic is ‘Conversations at the dinner-table’. So, I thought, why not collect material right here? You’re all eating right now, so the setting is perfect!”
“But this isn’t really dinner, Harshi,” Ma says, “More of a mid-evening snack.”
“And we’re sitting on the sofa, not at a table,” Nipun points out, but I’m sure he did it to annoy me.
“Ach! Details, details,” I wave them off. “When was the last time we used the dining table for, well, dining? And Nipun, I know you said that on purpose, stop grinning! The sofa is a dining table for all practical purposes! And Ma, yes, it’s not dinner, but it’s past 5.30, so who’s really keeping track?” Not waiting for them to respond, I continue, “All of you, keep talking. Just – think of me as a journalist – just observing everything.”
“I’m in!” Akka chirps. “But what exactly do we talk about?”
“That’s my point,” I say. “Just – talk. By the way, where’s Pa?”
“He’s talking to one of his cousins,” Nipun says. Explanatory note: Akka’s getting married in a couple of months, and our parents’ phones are eternally buzzing with calls from family and friends. This is one of them.
“Okay, Journalist Harshi,” Ma says, pulling an empty chair closer to the sofa, “Sit down and eat while collecting your material.”
“Oh, come on Ma, it’s okay. I’ll stand and eat.” Munching on the dosa’s crispiest parts, I say, “If I were a reporter in a Hollywood movie, I would currently be hiding in the bushes, observing your every move, and then-- Boom! The next day, the headlines are plastered with scandals!”
“Sit and eat! Ninnindu saapta vayirula ottadhu,” Ma says firmly, and, well, I’m happy to be a sitting reporter (I was having a hard time not spilling anything on myself).
Two minutes of silence.
“Come on folks!” I pipe up in what I hope is an encouraging voice. “Don’t be shy. Okay, I’ll start, if you would prefer that.” Vigorous nodding all around. “Alright then. Umm.. ooh, you won’t believe what happened today in class! In the middle of class, someone switched her mic on by mistake, and we could hear her little sister shouting about pizza!” (Confession: this didn’t actually happen. But you have to admit, it’s quite plausible. And I really needed to get the conversation rolling. Journalism, remember?)
Ma bursts out laughing, while Akka says longingly, “Ah, pizza. It’s been so long. Remember the first time Ma saw a pizza? She looked at it like it was a lab experiment gone wrong!”
“It was super-fun, randomly ordering pizza on a Sunday!” Nipun exclaims. “Of course, before COVID,” adds Akka.
At this point, I decide to intervene and change the topic. This is something I’ve been doing for a while – whenever one of them starts to talk about ‘how things have changed with COVID’ and ‘how things used to be’, I try to steer the conversation someplace else. Talking about it just leaves a bad aftertaste.
“Pizza’s Italian, right? Remember that Italian restaurant we once went to?” HARSHITHA! Why did you say ‘restaurant’? Now they’re going to start talking about how we don’t go to restaurants anymore and make themselves feel sad! Don’t wait for them to respond! Damage control, damage control! Topic change, topic change!
“I re-watched the Italian episode in Brooklyn Nine-Nine,” I say hastily.
Nipun looks at me quizzically. “Italian episode?”
“The ‘Mama Magglione’ one.”
“Oh that one!” Akka and Nipun exclaim, and then sing in a (non-harmonious) chorus, “Mama Magglione!”
Whew. B99 is a safe topic. “Wonder when Season 8 is coming out?” I ask.
“Sometime this year, I guess. But it’s getting ove-e-e-er,” Akka moans.
“Oh!” Ma exclaims, surprised. “It’s getting over?”
“Yeah, Season 8 is the last.”
“Aw, that’s sad,” Ma comments (she’s a huge fan of Jake and Amy).
“What are you all talking about?” Pa asks, emerging from – well, a room. I guess the call is done.
“Harshi has a piece to write – about dinner-table conversations – and she’s being a ‘journalist’,” Ma says, eyes twinkling.
“Hey, that sounds fun! Let me join you!” Pa says, settling into a chair next to me. “What’s the topic again?” he asks me.
“Dinner-table conversations, Pa.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ve already eaten, so I hope that does not affect the authenticity of your piece,” he asks, and it takes me two minutes to stop laughing.
“Come on Pa!”
“Why don’t you include something about – ‘A family that dines together stays together’?” he suggests.
“Eats together, stays together. Got it.”
“Not eats. Dines,” Pa says. “‘Dine’ is a more elegant word, don’t you think?”
“That it is, Pa,” I smile. “That it is.”
By this time, we are mostly done with our tiffin, and have started eating the most South Indian of all desserts – cold curd.
Nipun asks me now, “Well, Harshitha, do you have enough material now?’
“Oh, I have tons,” I reply, “Quite a bit of conversation. I just have to write a proper conclusion. That’ll be hard,” I add.
“Why hard?” Nipun asks.
“Well,” I say. “In reality, this conversation isn’t actually over. Some ten minutes later, Ma and I may pick it up again. Or you and Akka may do that over dinner. No conversation is ever really over, if you think about it, so how do I conclude it? Perhaps we started this conversation years back. It’s just one long talk.” I pause, and say, “Wow, I’m being quite a Paulo Coelho today.”
At that, Ma snaps to attention. “Why don’t you write an article about that?” she says, positively excited. “You don’t have to write it for this month’s issue, but don’t lose it. ‘All conversations are one’ – develop that. It’d be an excellent piece.” Ma’s reaction to hearing an idea like that is akin to her receiving a birthday gift. (I’ll let you in on a secret – April’s her birthday month!) Ma is an author by profession, so anytime I say something she finds impressive, she urges me to write about it. She’s equally happy if I say I don’t find it inspiring enough for an article – she uses it in her books!
“You think so, Ma? Yeah, it’s actually a great idea! I’ll develop it,” I reply.
Ma then stands up, wielding her empty curd cup. “Okay, everybody, I’m going to watch Gilmore Girls now. All members of the Suresh family are welcome to join.”
I laugh, and follow Ma into the TV room.
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