by Swetha Amit

Step 1 Wash the medium-sized raw mango with mildly hot water on a Sunday morning. Ensure it is not too hot. You don’t need any more scalds. Not after yesterday when you accidentally ran the iron over your hands. After discovering that text on your husband’s phone.

Step 2 Run the knife over the mango. Please take pleasure in this carnal instinct of being able to take something apart and chop it into little pieces. Run your fingers over the pale-yellow pieces. You wonder if she’s a colleague at his workplace.

Step 3 Sprinkle some salt on these finely chopped pieces. Not too much. Just a little. Make sure you wash your hands after that. You don’t need remnants of salt accidentally touching your scalds. It burns. Like hell, it does. You want to confront him and then wash your hands off him, even if he offers a remedy for those burns, even if he apologizes for cupping his lips against hers. Which you are sure he did. Maybe even more.

Step 4 Toss the pale-yellow pieces in a vessel and set them aside. You wish to set aside your simmering thoughts and focus on preparing this dish. Your in-laws will be coming over soon. As they always do every Sunday unless you are traveling. You imagine their faces turning pale if they get to hear about your husband’s text. Or should you say sext? Ignore their advice of seeking marital counseling to make it work. Divorce is blasphemous in their world. 

Step 5 In a pan, dry roast fenugreek seeds until golden brown. At first, the flames on the stove almost engulf the pan. You simmer it. Yet you cannot simmer the fire of rage circling in your head. You believe you are passionate, ambitious, and driven. You feel secure in your attributes of being a confident corporate woman, besides managing the domestic chores of cooking, laundry, and grocery shopping. The seeds turn golden brown. You wonder if your dark brown skin is the issue. Your in-laws always had a penchant for fair girls. They were disappointed with your husband’s choice. But they resigned. Your attractive looks, sharp features, and intelligence lured him. Grind the seeds into a coarse mixture and set it aside. The mixture is rough, like the texture of your black hair, now tied into a bun.

Step 6. Heat gingelly oil in a kadai. The heat should be medium. Add mustard seeds and watch them splutter slowly. You close your eyes. You were gasping when you saw that text. Last night was fun. We should do it again. You couldn’t look at him in the eye all day. Today you imagine yourself confronting your husband when he comes home after his swim, crackling like the mustard seeds swimming in burning oil.

Step 7 Add the coarse golden brown fenugreek powder, red-hot chili powder, and yellow turmeric powder. Same colors as the wedding sari you wore three years ago. When he said how beautiful you looked and made those solemn vows. After two years of dating and three years of marital bliss. You think of those five years of stimulating conversations, walks by the beach, discovering similar tastes in books, movies, and music, heated arguments, and simmering sex. The chemistry turned coarse over time. Past few months, he’d been distant. Preoccupied. Long hours at work. Frequent travel. Was it the weight gain instigated by work stress post that miscarriage and the inability to conceive again?

Step 8 Transfer the spices to the cut mango pieces. And mix it well—the perfect blend of oil, spices, salt, and raw mango pieces, just like how your bodies were entwined in passionate lovemaking for many nights. You feel the choke of emotions rising in your throat, growing with pitied and scornful expressions from the society that thought you were the perfect couple. At one point, you also thought you were in an ideal relationship. You couldn’t think of the last time he touched you. Perhaps he thought you wanted your space. You take a bite. It’s spicy, salty, and tangy. You imagine those heated arguments, tears, and accusations that will follow. It will simmer down, just like the flame on the stove. A part of you hopes that text was just after an office party. You need to figure out what to serve with the mango pickle. You decide to bide my time, waiting for your husband and guests to arrive.