May be its called love?

K and I pulled up our chairs and sat down for our regular Sunday lunch. In front of us was our sunday regular vengaya sambar and cabbage curry instead of the usual potato fry pairing. I sniffed appreciatively as I removed the lid covering the sambar and went about serving each of us a ladle of curry, a small portion of rice and the savoury onion stew. We mixed and ate. It was mostly in silence peppered with very few snatches of conversation. As we were near done, I realized a size-able amount of the curry and the sambar were left. K did not seem to have enjoyed his meal as he usually does.

Now, I was in a dilemma. I could choose to ask him why and risk a critique of something I thought had come out really well or continue on in silence wondering for the rest of my life why?

So, being a risk taker extraordinaire, I popped the question. What’s wrong with the food today?. A pregnant pause later “Nothing! It was nice.” You sure? I asked. I could see K struggling not to say the obvious. He blurted “Well! It was not quite like the usual sambar you make?” What do you mean? I continued, determined to have it out. He shrugged his shoulders and said “You usually make it better.” I left it at that. Angry with myself for asking and even angrier that his response should affect me so much.

As we cleared up and unloaded the dishwasher, we worked in silence and in synchrony. My mental wheels were spinning only accentuated by the silence around. A great deal later K said “I am sorry! I just told you what I think.” I digested the information and said I am not angry with you. Just upset with myself for letting my happiness hinge on your approval. He came around, gave me a hug and said “May be it is because you love me?”

May be it is love.