Akshita Kumar

India

Emotional gravies with a sprinkle of salt

I bring the tip of the ladle to my lips, the gravy burns my mouth, the burn is welcome.

“Mmh… It lacks salt”, I think to myself. Amidst the haze of skepticism, I hear a “ping” sound. I rush towards my phone with a cheeky smile. He finally messaged! Oh, wait… That’s not him, It’s his sister.

“Jess… He didn’t make it…”

I couldn’t register the words. Everything went from casual to stone heavy in just a matter of seconds. The ladle falls from my hand, The gravy splatters everywhere.

My first intense interaction across boundaries was with someone who is dead now, someone whom I never met, someone who left me hanging on the edges of expectations. I still remember our endless chats, our different ways of living, sometimes contrasting and conflicting with each other. I remember our group, a mix of people across the world connected via a single and thin yet powerful thread of music. Music enthusiasts together talking about philosophy of life in the dead middle of night. Like a harsh slash from a bow on a violin, my life swims in peaks and troughs of notes. The saltiness of my tears were enough for the gravy that night.