Over-toasted bread

Amarapala was tired. No, he was actually exhausted. He had a long journey home. Even though he had a chauffeur-driven office car - luckily he had that comfort, at least - his fatigue was simply too much. Amarapala’s wife returned home an hour earlier. She was also tired after another hectic day.

Their son was already home, chilling out as he liked. He had all the comforts with both parents attached to private firms earning their handsome bread. But they had a little time to be home to look after - or rather watch out - their only son. Their only correspondence was over the phone.

Servants come and go. But the responsibility of maintaining a huge mansion they built together was so heavy. Housekeeping was getting out of hand, Amarapala’s wife noticed. But she was helpless. She had been sharing the servant-dilemma with her fellow executives over lunch a countless number of times. But it hardly brought any results.

That night Amarapala’s wife had an added burden: planning dinner. She was envious of her husband and son. For them, it’s simply sitting for dinner. But she had to think of it, work on it, and finally clean it all too. All this she had to do, despite being employed like her husband. She was a project officer at an NGO on gender equality. But she had doubts if she enjoyed it in her own nest.

Stuck in her own web of thoughts, Amarapala’s wife decided to have bread for dinner. She bought sliced bread on the way, thinking of having it for breakfast. But now she was too exhausted to cook dinner. Just toast some slices, and that will be enough for today. Put the breakfast on the back burner.

At first, Amarapala thought it’s a different taste. It took a while to realize that the bread is over-heated. That he could not hide from his wife and son. They noticed the sour expression on his face.

He knew his father’s nature. He could easily be annoyed. But his silence sent signals unfathomable.

“Something wrong with the bread?” Mother asked, her voice breaking. Tears almost ran down her cheeks, “I over-heated them.” But then it was their turn to be surprised.

“It tastes great. Hmmm... Yummy.”

Mother looked at father. Was it really him? She didn’t seem to know how to acknowledge father’s compliment. She seemed nervous, son noticed.

Amarapala’s wife was a bit guilty, recalling how she toasted the bread. She put them on the large frying pan, and went upstairs to put on a light dress. She took some time to locate a light dress among the laundered clothes. Only when she came downstairs, did she remember the slices. But then it was too late. She wished she put one slice at a time. She made sure to watch out for the next round. But then again she didn’t feel like throwing them away. She put them on the platter so she could have them by herself.

She never thought her husband would make a grab for two over-toasted ones.

She noticed him going for that. It sent some creeps. He is tired, and he would get offended. He easily loses his temper, like nothing at times. But for some strange reason, he enjoyed having the over-toasted bread.

Is it that he really liked the over-toasted bread, or is he just pretending?

Later towards evening, father summoned son.

“Do you know why I said that?”

“No. I was simply surprised when you said it tastes great.”

“Mother comes home so tired, just like me. I know that, and I really appreciate what she does to us. When I admired over-toasted bread, I admired her effort. Her effort to make us happy.”

Amarapala’s son was silent for a while. He was sure impressed.

“That’s simply great, father. I never thought you will make it happen.” Father gave an indifferent look. He didn’t take the compliment seriously. [email protected]