The Truth Will Make Ye Free
Marisha Ida Fonseca
12 March 2009, 10:50It was the dragonfly’s fault. That nasty creature had kept up an indecent buzzing and had finally landed on Aaron’s nose. Aaron had suddenly woken up, and after shooing the dragonfly away, decided to pay attention to what was going on in church for a little while, before resuming his nap. This is how he came to hear the Scripture verse “Ye shall know the truth and the truth will make ye free.” For the first time in thirty years, Aaron stayed awake through three quarters of the service.
Not that he was paying much attention to what was going on in church.. But something about that particular verse touched a chord in him. Maybe because Christmas was coming near, and Aaron was about to go through the bi-annual ordeal of lunch at his mother-in-law’s house.
To most people, it would be the height of idiocy to describe Theresa Aunty’s meals as an ordeal. She was a wonderful cook, and loved to feed her guests well. Her sorpotel was acknowledged the best in Bombay, while her vindaloo and xacuti made her guests feel as if they had entered the heaven of good food. Theresa Aunty made absolutely mouth-watering panrolls and potato chops, and those who were lucky enough to sample her fried pomfret, felt themselves back among the beaches and palm trees of Goa.
Yet to her son-in-law, this lunch was an ordeal. Because of the prawn curry.
The first Christmas after his wedding, Aaron and his wife had spent with Theresa Aunty. He had heard his mother-in-law was not too pleased at having an East Indian son-in-law, when her daughter could have had so many nice Goan boys. He had been extremely anxious to have her think well of him, and had heard that the best way to a woman’s heart is through praising her cooking.
Meanwhile, Theresa Aunty, despite her prejudice against East Indians, was determined to surpass herself in this year’s Christmas lunch. She had heard that the best way to a man’s heart was his stomach, so she planned a banquet fit for the gods, which unfortunately was unfit for her son-in-law.
Aaron’s own mother had her particular style of making xacuti, sorpotel and vindaloo, and Aaron had become accustomed to this style. Goan and East Indian tastes were not exactly similar, and Aaron was fussy about his food. He had been unable to hide his disappointment at Theresa Aunty’s much exalted sorpotel, vindaloo and xacuti. It had been terribly embarrassing to have Theresa Aunty asking him pointedly whether he liked her cooking and which dish was his favourite. Theresa Aunty seemed so upset at his weak “Oh its good” that Aaron felt even less at ease. She looked at him like a dog pleading for a little petting. How could he avoid hurting that poor old lady’s feelings? In despair, he tasted some of the prawn curry. He disliked prawns exceedingly. He never ever ate them in any dish. But…
“This is fabulous!” he had cried. And Theresa Aunty had beamed at him. Aaron liked some of her cooking!
Once he had declared it to be fabulous, he could not easily refuse it the next time he came to lunch. He had tried to get out of it by taking only the curry and not the prawns, but Theresa Aunty had noticed this and said “Aaron baba, take more prawns. I put extra in the curry because I know how much you like it” and had put seven prawns in his plate! After that episode, Aaron had been able to escape by taking two or three prawns along with lots of curry and keeping them to the last. He had to swallow them with heroic gulps and drink a lot of water afterwards. Even then, he had felt queasy and nauseous for days after eating those wretched prawns. For the past ten years, Aaron had been served prawn curry whenever he and his wife visited Theresa Aunty, and he had eaten it feeling a profound sense of sympathy for all the martyrs of the world.
That Sunday’s Scripture reading had suddenly presented Aaron a perfectly easy solution of his problem. He would simply tell his mother-in-law that he did not like the prawn curry. Ten years of his wife’s cooking had led him to appreciate Goan cooking as well as East Indian, and he was quite fond of Goan xacuti by now. He could honestly praise Theresa Aunty’s cooking in the future, after she stopped serving him those terrible prawns.
On Christmas Day, Aaron, his wife and his widowed mother-in-law sat down at a table laden with food enough for twenty starving footballers. After grace had been said, Theresa Aunty had begun to serve the food. Naturally, after the rice, the first thing to do was to serve dear Aaron his favourite prawn curry. Aaron was determined to tell her about the curry before she could serve him any.
“Oh Aunty I….the prawn curry….uh…um…” his voice trailed away in front of his mother-in-law’s expectant gaze. “Aaron, you don’t like my prawn curry any more?”
Aaron could not bear to hurt Theresa Aunty. Besides, would she believe that he had stopped liking prawn curry all of a sudden? Wouldn’t she suspect he had been lying to her all these years?”
“Oh I’m still fond of prawn curry, but I’m having some trouble with my digestion now, the doctor has forbidden it.” This was a safe, believable lie. So easy! He would no longer be faced with that terrible prawn curry and yet Theresa Aunty’s feelings hadn’t been hurt!
“Ah, I know, baba. Don’t worry about your digestion. When I next go to Crawford Market I will get you some candied ginger. That is the best for the stomach, much better than any medicine,” Theresa Aunty said kindly. Poor Aaron, what a shame to have stomach trouble so young. Not yet forty. But all young people had health problems nowadays. Must be because of those pizzas and McDonalds they were eating, instead of good fish curry rice.
So Aaron jubilantly believed that his ordeal was over, and it was easy to give his driver the packet of candied ginger Theresa Aunty had brought for him, after making a special trip to Crawford Market, at the other end of the city.
When Easter came, for the first time in years Aaron did not dread going to his mother-in-law’s place for lunch. There would be no prawns and he could enjoy his meal.
As the three of them gathered round the table, Theresa Aunty beamed maternally at him. “Aaron baba, I remembered about the prawn curry, that the doctor does not allow you to eat it.” Aaron smiled and thanked her.
“So I prepared another dish specially for you. I made such a large quantity, I’m sure you’ll like it,” continued Theresa Aunty, removing a lid. “Prawn chilli fry!”
