Radha & Jai's Recipe for Romance

by Nisha Sharma

  Sent August 23 1:43 AM

  DAD: Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, chutki. You’re welcome! Your dada’s recipe book that I sent you was how I learned to cook. He wrote it like a manual, so it’s the perfect starting point for you. Knowing your mom, you don’t have all the kitchen essentials to get started. I’ll mail some.

  Radha tried to catch her breath. Who knew that hauling half a dozen boxes from the front porch to the kitchen could be such sweaty business?

  She surveyed the deliveries that she’d placed on the counter and next to the kitchen island. Most of them looked like they came from a restaurant-supply warehouse for professionals. When her father had said that he was going to hook her up with some essentials, she hadn’t thought he’d go to this extreme.

  Her therapists in Chicago had both said that there was a chance her father would try to overcompensate for not being physically present in her life anymore, especially since he wasn’t big on verbalizing feelings. Radha hadn’t believed it at the time. Even though they all used to live in the same house, she’d rarely seen her father for long anyway. Their schedules were completely different.

  But now, looking at all the gifts he’d sent, Radha couldn’t help but think there might be some truth to what her therapists had said.

  She picked up her grandfather’s recipe book and traced her fingertips over the etched lettering on the cover. In Punjabi it read: property of bimalpreet chopra. He’d written tons of recipes and instructions inside. The words were often in different-color inks, with some sections scratched out and others with added text in the margins. The tattered, uneven pages, the musky scent, and the rough torn binding made her feel connected to both Dada and her father.

  She wished she’d had time with Dadaji, but he’d died before she was born. As Radha flipped through the book, she remembered the stories her father would share about how Dadaji started cooking after he lost his crops one bad harvest and had to make money to feed his family. He’d opened a small counter-service dhaba, and it was so successful that it became his family business.

  A few years ago, she’d wanted to travel to Punjab so she could visit her father’s family and the dhaba in Chandigarh, but her mother wouldn’t let her miss dance lessons.

  Radha opened one of the boxes and pulled out a shiny silver spice tin. Her very own masala dabba. It was just about big enough to hold all her regrets, she thought.

  “What in the world is going on here?”

  Radha looked up to see her mother’s shocked expression. She stood in the kitchen doorway with her phone in hand. Radha must’ve been loud enough that Sujata had left her home office to investigate.

  “Dad sent me some stuff.” She held up the spice tin. “We had one of these at the Chicago house, right?”

  “You don’t need that here,” Sujata said. She stepped forward and poked one of the boxes. “You don’t need any of this.”

  “Then where will I put all the spices and stuff for when I learn how to cook?”

  “There is no need for you to cook. I pay for a gourmet meal kit twice a week. It’s calorie controlled. Just like Dad’s kitchen used to prep food for you while you were competing.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “No, but it can be.” Her mother went over to the freezer and pulled out a bag of fruit. “Look, you can smoothie with me in the morning. Just like we used to. We’ll try new smoothie recipes if you want to be adventurous. Quick and easy ones filled with nutrition. Cooking your own food is a waste of time.”

  “Mom, do you hear yourself when you say things like that? You’re two posts short of being a fitspo account. No, I don’t want to ‘smoothie’ with you. Please tell me you didn’t join a workout circle and they’re giving you horrible advice.”

  Sujata frowned. “It’s my new spin instructor, actually.”

  “Just shoot me now.”

  Her mother laughed. “Radha, there are so many other things for you to do, like practicing and keeping your grades up. Academics never come easy to you.”

  “Seriously, is that all you want to talk about with me? Dance and school?” It stung that her mother’s priorities never included her feelings.

  “Well, of course.”

  “At least you’re honest. After all, I am just a dancer and a student. Did you know that I have no other things I’m into?”

  Sujata genuinely looked confused. “What more do you need?”

  Sometimes talking to her mother was like trying to have a conversation with a robot. “Mom, I don’t want to be a cardboard box.” Radha pointed to the packages. The words of her competitors at the International Kathak Classics competition were burned in her brain. “I think this cooking thing is a good way for me to…I don’t know, stay in touch with Dad. It’s also a coping strategy or whatever the therapists call it. You’re always quoting them—you should know.”

  “Don’t be sassy. I think the therapists were talking about you continuing sessions here in New Jersey and starting dance again.”

  “I’m not ready for either option yet.”

  “And I won’t stop bringing it up. But do you really think this will help you connect with your father?”

  Radha shrugged. “Why not? It’s like I’m speaking his language, right?”

  “Yes, food is definitely his language.” She sighed and pulled out a stool at the counter to sit. “If it’ll help you two connect, then fine. If it’s just to deal with your anxiety, you know how I feel about that. Either way, I want you in bed early tonight. You have your first day of school tomorrow, and an early workout to regain strength and stamina.”

  Radha knew where the conversation was headed. She had more pressing things to think about…like if the stuff her father had sent her was dishwasher safe. “Mom, why don’t you go see Aunty tonight? Winnie said she’s home weeknights.”

  “Oh? You’ve been keeping in touch with Winnie since we got here?”

  There was no way Radha was going to tell her mother that she’d texted Winnie to find out more about Jai, the mystery dancer she’d met at her audition. “I, uh, just wanted to know how film school was going and when she’d be back for a visit.”

  “I’m glad you’re keeping in touch. As much as I’d like to go visit my friend, I’ll stay in. You’re going to need help putting things away.”

  “Oh, no way. No, I’m fine. Once I finish, I’ll get my lunch packed for tomorrow and get my gym bag ready.”

  Sujata pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. “Fine. If you’re sure, and as long as you also use the exercise bike downstairs, I’ll see if Aunty is free.”

  Radha walked around the counter and kissed her mother on the cheek. “Go. Stay out past curfew. Maybe even smoke a joint.”

  “Radha!”

  “Kidding. Dad’s humor. Please stop mothering and leave the house for a bit.”

  With one last scan of the room, and a kiss on Radha’s forehead, Sujata left the kitchen.

  Radha waited until she could no longer hear her mother’s footsteps before she made quick work of unloading the rest of the boxes and lining up the contents on the counter. Bowls, spatulas, spoons, measuring cups, a mixer, a blender, an immersion blender, a food processor, a Crock-Pot, an Instant Pot, whisks, pots, pans, woks, sifters, sheet pans, a mortar and pestle, and a rolling pin. Her father had even sent a box of Indian spices, teas, and dry-noodle packets.

  She picked up one of the noodle packets and inspected the yellow wrapping. Radha used to love noodles. The only problem was that she had no idea how to make them on her own.

  But, like with dance, she had to begin somewhere. In kathak, Radha started with the basic steps. The footwork. What were the basics in the kitchen? The masala dabba? That sounded right in her head, but all the spices her father had sent were labeled differently fro
m her grandfather’s notebook.

  She glanced at her phone and, ignoring the twisting nerves in her gut, dialed her father’s restaurant. What was the point in having an award-winning chef for a father if he couldn’t give advice on following instructions to set up a spice tin?

  “Tandoor Kitchen, this is Kriti. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Radha Chopra. I’m sure he’s really busy, but I was hoping to speak with my father—”

  “Oh yes! One second. I’ll transfer you to the kitchen.”

  The sound cut off, and Radha waited. A few moments later a deep baritone voice answered. “Radha?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Did I miss one of your calls? I’m so sorry, chutki. I promise I’ll try to do better. The restaurant has been so busy, and I—”

  “I’m calling to say thank you,” Radha interrupted. “I don’t want to keep you too long. I got all the stuff you sent me. It’s a lot.”

  “Oh. You’re welcome. I don’t know what you already have to work with. This way, you have a little bit of everything—”

  “Dad, the problem is I have no idea where to start.”

  Her father laughed. “What do you mean you don’t know where to start? With one of the recipes in the book. Starting is the easy part of cooking.”

  “Dad,” Radha said. She shifted, and the twisting in her stomach tightened. “I don’t think I’ve ever boiled my own water. I probably need a bit more guidance before I grill a chicken, crack an egg, or whatever people do in the kitchen.”

  “Chutki, what do you fix yourself at home?”

  “Oh, I don’t do anything. Mom bought this fancy meal subscription. It’s fresh, organic, calorie-controlled, blah, blah, blah. I just nuke it in the microwave. It even comes with utensils.”

  “You nuke it? That’s absolutely unacceptable! How can she—I’m going to have a word with your mother, I swear.”

  “Uh, no you’re not. It’s fine. Seriously.” She toyed with the edges of the noodle package. “Remember when you used to make me Maggi with peas and onions?”

  Her father chuckled. “Yes, that’s all you wanted to eat for almost a year.”

  “Well, I know there are a ton of spices you added to it, and I guess, I don’t know, I should figure out what those are first before making the noodles. Should I google it? This is dumb. I could look it up online. I’m capable enough to do this. I’m sorry I bothered you. Forget I called. We can talk next week when you’re free.”

  “No, wait,” her father said. “I have an idea. Can you give me a second?”

  “Uh, sure?”

  Radha didn’t know why he wanted her to hold, but she waited on mute. Maybe he was going to email her translations of the spices or something. Technically, she could’ve done that on her own. She hadn’t talked to her father on the phone in so long, and so she’d chosen to ramble about noodles as her conversation starter.

  Maybe it was too late for them to try to connect.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand, and a request popped up indicating that her father was switching to a video chat. Her finger hovered over the green button for a second before she accepted.

  A scruffy older man’s face appeared on the screen. He wore a white chef’s coat and sat in front of a large set of windows Radha recognized as Tandoor Kitchen’s business office. She’d only gone once or twice to either drop something off or pick up takeout.

  “Hey, chutki. Sorry, I had to tell the kitchen staff to work for the next half hour without me. Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He motioned with large, scarred hands. “Your kitchen! Let’s see your setup.”

  “Uh…okay?” Radha rotated the camera and scanned the room.

  “Wow, nice space. If there is one good thing I can say about your mother, it’s that she knows her real estate. Do you have designated cabinets for the stuff I sent you?”

  “I guess. Almost all the cabinets are empty.”

  “Excellent. I’ll tell you the best way to store your things, but for now, unwrap the spices I sent you, the recipe book, and the spice tin. Then we’ll need a saucepan and a packet of Maggi for later.”

  Radha rotated the camera so it faced her. “Dad? What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “There wasn’t much I could do to help you when you danced, but I can be there for you with this. What do you say we have a mini lesson? Something simple. Some kitchen-organization basics, and Maggi, just the way you liked it. We can even have you make enough for lunch tomorrow.”

  “And you want to do this on video chat?”

  “Pretty good idea, huh?”

  Radha thought about spending the next half hour with her father this way, and some of the tension in her stomach began to ease. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could give it a try.”

  “Good! Now, let’s start with the haldi and amchur.”

  “Yes, Chef,” she said, trying to hide her smile. “But first, what are those in English?”

  Chapter Five

  JAI

  To: JMuza@PAAS.edu

  From: JPBollywoodBeats@gmail.com

  Subject: Choreographer

  Hey, Masi,

  Sorry I missed you this week.

  We may have a bit of a problem with the Bollywood Beats routine.

  In addition to filling the last dancer spot, we can’t find a replacement for Payal who is willing to work with us on such short notice. This means we won’t have a finished piece for the Winter Showcase. I don’t want my team to lose this opportunity. Can we talk about options?

  Also, Dr. O’Hare wants to meet with me one-on-one about my college essay. Even though the essay is assigned to the entire English class, he thinks that as a candidate for valedictorian, I need the special attention. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

  Jai stood at the entrance of the cafeteria with eight of his dance-team members. It was the last lunch period on the first day of school. His plan was to gently let the team know about their choreographer dilemma. Unfortunately, while they were waiting for their cue, the truth burst out of his mouth.

  “We can’t start our choreography yet, because we can’t find a choreographer.”

  Nice job, Jai.

  His team members stared at him in various degrees of shock.

  “What are we going to do?” Shakti asked. She tugged on the end of her braid with its rainbow scrunchie. Her neon-pink shirt read decolonize your mind. “I need to be in the Winter Showcase. How else are we going to get in front of scouts?”

  “Forget scouts,” Hari said. “We need to perform in the showcase as part of our senior-year dance grade. Is the director going to make us write a paper instead? I don’t have time for another paper.”

  Jai held his hands up for attention. “We are going to figure this out. Let me talk to Director Muza first, and I’ll report back. Right now, the only thing we have control over is finding another person to complete our team. That is why we’re here, and that’s what we’re going to do. I need you all to focus on one thing at a time.”

  “Are you sure this will work?” Shakti asked. She peered over his shoulder into the cafeteria. “It’s a bit risky. If the other dance teams are in there, they may try to challenge us. I think we’d be fine against the pointe or tap dancers, but the ballroom dancers are fierce. We may be booed.”

  Jai followed Shakti’s line of sight. There was a long aisle dividing the cafeteria in half. Round tables and colorful chairs were occupied by students from all four grade levels. He scanned some familiar faces, and then he saw Radha sitting at a table by herself. She was reading a textbook and eating what looked like yellow Maggi noodles from a glass container. A bag of carrots sat at her elbow.

  “Yeah,” he said, and faced his team. “Yea
h, this is going to work. I mean, it works in the movies, right?”

  Jai’s phone buzzed.

  SU-JIN: Starting the music!!!

  “It’s go time,” he said, and moved into formation. Shakti took the lead, and the surround-sound speakers began to thump out a bass line. The song was a remixed Hindi-Punjabi number with an English chorus.

  Shakti stepped into the cafeteria, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, “Down the middle!”

  It was just enough warning for people to rush out of the way. She took a running leap and did a front handspring step-out, a roundoff, and then a back handspring, followed by another roundoff and a full twisting layout.

  “Show-off,” Jai said with a grin, and glided into the cafeteria on his cue. He was met with cheers, and people moved their trays as his dancers jumped up on tables. The chaperones were already having a cow, but their protests were muffled by cheering and music.

  When he’d told Masi that he needed to meet prospective team members, Jai had neglected to mention that he planned on doing it via flash mob.

  He led the routine, laughing when one of his friends did an aerial cartwheel in front of him and mimed rolling out the red carpet.

  Jai didn’t mean to, but he slid across the floor until he was sprawled on the round-table bench seat next to Radha. “Hello there, new girl.”

  She arched a brow, as if waiting for him to make the next move. He always believed in keeping the crowd happy, so he motioned for her to give him her hand.

  She looked like she wasn’t going to take it, so Jai dropped to one knee. People around them started chanting his name. Radha laughed and, to his relief, swung her legs around so she could face him and place her palm against his.

  He spun her in a circle and pulled her in until she sat on his knee.

  “Happy first day of school,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she replied. “What are you doing?”

  He spun her again into his arms.

  “Recruiting,” he replied, and grinned when she stepped up onto the bench seat.