Teatime – A Short Story By Anu Venugopal

 

“Hema! Maya! It’s teatime!” Amumma called out to her granddaughters, as they played catch in the garden at home.

With their matching cotton dresses with ship motifs fluttering in the wind, Maya was about to be caught by her elder sister when her grandmother interrupted their game. Hema raced into the house, followed by her sister. Once Amumma uttered the word teatime, nothing else mattered – not even who won the game.

Amumma was the best teatime maker of all time, but it wasn’t always that way. Hema remembered her grandma telling her how she learnt to cook with the help of her mom’s recipes, disguised as letters. Hema often wondered what would have happened if they never exchanged letters between Kerala and Malaya back in the 1940’s?

12-year-old Hema might never ever had a whiff of steaming, sweet Ada on banana leaf, the popular snack made from rice flour dough, topped up with fresh coconut or jaggery. 

And teatime would have been an entirely different experience.

Hema loved teatime. It was her favourite time of day. After school and finishing her homework, she would often read a book while Amumma made snacks for the family. She would often make boring, spicy treats for the grown-ups but sweet, special treats for her grandkids.

Sometimes, it would be sweet and sugary coconut filled curry puffs. From time to time, she would fry bananas in batter, and Hema would tuck into the crispiest, plumpest pisang goreng or banana fritters. Hema always looked forward to the days her grandmother made ada, bringing the delicious taste of Kerala to Kuala Lumpur.

The sisters ran past the hall and took their places at the dining table, wondering what treats were in store for them.

Ada? Curry puff? Pisang Goreng? Hema wouldn’t have minded if it was just biscuits this time. Dull, dry biscuits were fine, as long as Amumma made them her extra special lime juice, a cooling mixture of lime, water and sugar. It was the perfect drink for the humid Malaysian evenings.

“What’s for tea today Amumma?” asked 9-year-old Maya, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Hema too, looked forward to the answer.  They didn’t have to wait long. Amumma placed a plate with six pieces of the golden, crispy Pisang Goreng on the table, along with two big glasses of lime juice. What a treat!

Hema was about to reach out for a banana fritter when she heard her dad’s voice from the hall.

“Hema, shall we go to the playground and play badminton at the court in 10 minutes?” asked Acha.

“Yes! Let me go and change,” Hema answered happily, sprinting to her room to change into t-shirt and shorts before racing down the stairs of their double-storey house.

Back in the kitchen with her badminton racket and a shuttlecock box, she told Amumma her plans.

“What? Playing badminton now? No, no. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Why don’t you just have your tea and have a bath. It’s almost 5pm,” she said, wiping her face with the end of her white cotton saree.

“Just for half an hour, ok Amumma? I’ll come back and have the pisang goreng. Thank you!” said Hema and gave petite grandma a little hug before running off to meet her dad at the front door.

20 minutes later, Hema was back home after her shortest badminton adventure with her dad, who was clutching his broken arm.

Amumma looked at him and then stared at Hema furiously. 

Her eyes said what her lips didn’t – Her son’s broken arm was all Hema’s fault!