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Hello. I am Fatima Bee. Lets travel back in time, you and i.
It was on a husky, hazy evening 26 years ago that I was cooking. Making a tangy kadi gravy with some boiled brown rice, the best we could afford mind you, Khan saab, my father-in-law might not have many teeth left but he is still very particular about food. The thick gravy boiled furiously, while the fire from the stove crackled, egging the gravy on, just like a master would, his slave. The tangy aroma swept through the room enticing all that came in its path.
Saleem and Nooyi, my 7 year old twins were busy swimming in the pond with their father, my husband Noor Ji, who had just returned from a tiring day’s work of pottery with his cousins. The whole village seemed to be splashing and squishing with the buffaloes there in the pond. It was quite difficult to tell the adults from the kids and the kids from the animals, if you ask me.
An uneventful dinner was followed by an even more uneventful night. Or so it seemed at the time…
Tucking the twins in and giving Khan saab a glass of hot milk I went back to my room and snuggled cozily next to my husband. Exhausted with the day’s activities we immediately dozed off, refraining to indulge into any more of our own.
The best part about dreams is that they seem real. I flew on through the mountains sniffing the aroma coming up from the boiling hot river of thick kadi gravy. “where are the brownnn riceeee” echoed one of the buffaloes in khan saab’s voice. Hurrying up, a little scared of being yelled at I swirled the river of gravy around faster and faster. It all seemed normal, the river, the buffalo , the gravy.
Yet my eyes started to water. There was a certain flavor of hot mirchi coming in through the gravy. I hope I haven’t put in too much or Khan saab would get angry, I thought. At first it seemed minuscule enough to be ignored but it soon gained volume and became unbearable. I clenched my throat as the mirchi seemed to have formed a coating inside me, making me vomit and scream unbearably. Horror descended the valley as the peaceful scenery soon turned into one that of pain and suffering.
The buffalo was running around madly while the river had transformed into a huge tide that was sweeping everything in its path. A thick mist of the mirchi was engulfing everything. I staggered on trying to see through the mist but everything started to shake violently. Just when it seemed like I could take no more of it ….I woke up.
The whole village was buzzing with excitement. Noor ji was shaking me and the kids awake. I was confused and sweating profusely. It seemed like I had woken up from the dream to land back into the dream itself. Anarchy reigned. Nobody knew what was happening. The only thing we could feel was the pain, the irritation and the unimaginable discomfort of the mirchi mist, a gas that had spread far and wide…
Begging for the dream to get over, I wept…
26 years later, the dream still refuses to get over.
I try to sleep it off, but it is quite difficult to sleep now. The gas has shriveled my intestines and glued my liver to them. It is very painful to lie down. I sleep sitting up, in an awkward position mostly. Noor ji and Kha Saab perished with the gas. Nooyi after her marriage gave birth to three disfigured premature fetuses, all of them died within a week of their birth. Saleem has ruptured lungs and often coughs up blood.
Anyways,I made some thick kadi gravy and brown rice again today. Here at jantar mantar, new delhi. We have been here for the past two months on the road protesting against the thick mirchi gas that screwed up all life back in our hometown of Bhopal. The government refuses to eat this tender meal with us. But you’re welcome to join..if you wish to....while we dream on ….
