Short Stories in Oman : A Morsel full of compassion
As the smell of fried chicken wafts into her living room, Shanta Sunderaman realises it is too late. It had become her daily 10am ritual to run to the windows and seal them shut to avoid the smell of non vegetarian cooking from floating into her impeccable maintained Brahmin house. But alas, she would have to do her "dhoop batti" puja and chants again to purify her space.
For months after moving into her little apartment across her husband's office in Muscat's business district, Ruwi, she had complained about how difficult it was to follow their age old traditions. "But this not India, Shanta.." her husband had refrained.."we must adjust". So now Shanta did all she could to stay true to her gods.
But today she had had enough, "atleast she can close her window!!" she thought to herself as she marched to drape a yellow dupatta over her new suit, saris are so much easier but "One must adjust!". She avoids the lift and walks down a flight of steps and rings on the doorbell of Flat 14.
Almost instantly the door opens revealing a sweaty faced woman in a Hijab* (*A scarf wrapped around a woman's face). "OH!! its not the delivery man!" exclaims Miriam and smiles. "I am Miriam and you must be the new Indian family upstairs, come sister, don't be shy" and she opens her door to reveal an array of trays laid out on the floor and tables.
Shanta opens her mouth to say something but decides against it and walks in precariously.
Miriam rattles away "You see, I am a single mother and I make non vegetarian lunch meals for working Indians in these offices. The money is not very good but it helps me get by and I was waiting for my delivery man who is late AGAIN today!"
"And how rude of me - I didn't even ask your name!, Anything I can do to help you my sister?"
Shanta puts down her dupatta on a sofa close by "I am Shanta, Can I help you chop those vegetables - you look like you could use some help.." She smiles and rolls up her sleeves.
As the smell of fried chicken wafts into her living room, Shanta Sunderaman realises it is too late. It had become her daily 10am ritual to run to the windows and seal them shut to avoid the smell of non vegetarian cooking from floating into her impeccable maintained Brahmin house. But alas, she would have to do her "dhoop batti" puja and chants again to purify her space.
For months after moving into her little apartment across her husband's office in Muscat's business district, Ruwi, she had complained about how difficult it was to follow their age old traditions. "But this not India, Shanta.." her husband had refrained.."we must adjust". So now Shanta did all she could to stay true to her gods.
But today she had had enough, "atleast she can close her window!!" she thought to herself as she marched to drape a yellow dupatta over her new suit, saris are so much easier but "One must adjust!". She avoids the lift and walks down a flight of steps and rings on the doorbell of Flat 14.
Almost instantly the door opens revealing a sweaty faced woman in a Hijab* (*A scarf wrapped around a woman's face). "OH!! its not the delivery man!" exclaims Miriam and smiles. "I am Miriam and you must be the new Indian family upstairs, come sister, don't be shy" and she opens her door to reveal an array of trays laid out on the floor and tables.
Shanta opens her mouth to say something but decides against it and walks in precariously.
Miriam rattles away "You see, I am a single mother and I make non vegetarian lunch meals for working Indians in these offices. The money is not very good but it helps me get by and I was waiting for my delivery man who is late AGAIN today!"
"And how rude of me - I didn't even ask your name!, Anything I can do to help you my sister?"
Shanta puts down her dupatta on a sofa close by "I am Shanta, Can I help you chop those vegetables - you look like you could use some help.." She smiles and rolls up her sleeves.
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