Within a few minutes he was asleep. I, on the other hand, kept awake all night, wondering
what I would do if the one man who loved me decided to leave me.
Since I hadn’t slept I got out of bed at 5 a.m. I spent the next hour making breakfast. I made pancakes,
Debu’s favourite. I also cut fruit, boiled some eggs and made toast. I wondered why I was doing this.
Was it because I couldn’t sleep? Or did I want to calm Debu down? Or to show I could be domestic
enough to be a good mother? Or did I want to prove that I could be sweet and innocent, which
probably translates into docile and submissive?
I wanted Debu to wake up and be happy. I wanted it more than the China deal or a bonus or
anything else. I scolded myself for feeling that way, but I couldn’t help it. His words about me not
being potential mother material had shaken me up.
Wake up, Debu, eat the pancakes and please tell me I am lovable.
He entered the living room at 6.45. I had already laid out the plates and placed a jug filled
with orange juice on the table. I switched on the electric hobs and put a saucepan on it.
‘Wow,’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
‘Good morning,’ I said in my most cheerful voice.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Making pancakes. You love them, remember? You want them with maple syrup or honey?’
‘Maple syrup. Is it the weekend?’ he said in a puzzled voice as he dragged a dining chair out
to sit.
‘No, Wednesday. I just thought I would cook us something special.’
On typical weekdays we would gobble down cereal and milk and rush out of the house.
I put a plate of blueberries, raspberries and blackberries in front of Debu.
‘Fancy,’ he said.
‘Berries are good for you. Start with this while the pancakes get cooked.’
He waved his hands.
‘Don’t you have to go to work?’ he said.
‘I do.’
‘You had an important meeting in the morning, right?’
‘Yeah. I will have breakfast with you and then get ready.’
The smell of buttery dough filled the living room. The pancakes turned golden-brown. I
arranged two of them on a plate, drizzled maple syrup on them. I cut a banana into thin slices and
arranged them around the pancakes.
‘How about you?’ Debu said as I gave him his plate.
‘I am making more,’ I said.
Does he think I am less hardened now? I wondered. He ate in silence, perhaps wondering if
this was a dream. I made my pancakes and sat in front of him.
‘They are delicious,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’
‘I should say thank you. You put in so much effort. What time did you wake up to make all
this?’