Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Beaten Eggs

It was an omelette morning. When the day just begged to be started with the smell of well made eggs. The perfect concoction of chopped onions and beaten eggs. Add a dash of cold milk and a masterpiece of fluffy yellow-white would sputter to life on a pan.

He knew this the moment he woke up. With the crumpled sheets and her legs sprawled across the bed in a tangle that belied the calm he felt, seeing her lie there, on her bed. It felt familiar somehow. Even if it was his first day with her.

He slipped out of bed. The cement floor felt cold to his bare feet. He quickly pulled his pajamas on as the light dawn breeze coming in through the open window gave him goosebumps. The kitchen light was on. The chopping board was still there on the kitchen slab. The knife lay in the midst of half chopped onions. The eggs had rolled precariously close to edge of the sink. The pan was oiled and ready. He had been about to light the gas when she had slipped her hand into his shirt from behind and nibbled on his left ear lobe. He hated his ears being nibbled. She loved it.

He remembered he had forgotten to get any milk last evening. Just as well, he thought, it would have gotten spoilt overnight if left out. Her black strappy stilettos were lying in front of the fridge door. She looked good in them, he thought. She also hated putting them on. He reached into the cutlery drawer to fetch a fork. The eggs would have to be beaten well.

He broke the eggs into a bowl. Clean breaks, both of them. The golden yolks floated in the invisible gooey whites. Wobbly. He absentmindedly grabbed the stool beside the counter. It was too early in the day to beat eggs while standing up. He felt something was lumped up on the stool as he sat down. Who wears stockings in a weather like this, she had asked. And besides they wont last me the night, with you around. What kind of talk was that? He was gentle with women's clothing. With the women, however, he was just a man. Mixing a pinch of milk into the eggs when beating them made them frothy and smooth.

The oil sputtered on the pan. He poured in the beaten eggs with the chopped onions and let it spread into an even disk. He could smell the serene golden brown being born. It was amazing how perfect it came out after, especially after the eggs got a really good beating. He folded the omelette into half and slipped it onto a plate. The broken egg shells were thrown into the garbage bin, with the onion peels. The counter-top was wiped clean. The exhaust would take away the last remnants of his breakfast from the air.

He would get late for his shift if he did not leave soon. Besides Sameer would be anxious to be relieved. So that he could get back to his newly married wife.


  1. another good post!i wonder how you could word so beautifuly :)and a good cooking tip as well :)

  2. :)

    I wish my hubby made me breakfast!