[Creative Nonfiction] One Sunday Afternoon
Read the second place entry for our week of November 17, 2024 prompt, Small Pleasures.
One Sunday Afternoon
by
She mixes besan (chickpea flour), rosewater and coconut oil in a steel katori (bowl). The pale mixture sticks to her fingers. The texture is smooth and thick. Under the light of a single yellow bulb in the bathroom, she rubs it slowly on her skin. First one cheek. Then the other. Forehead, nose, around the mouth, chin and along the length of her neck. Gently abrasive yet soft. The rosewater has a cooling effect. Its fragrance is fleeting. Like the light that lingers in the sky after the sun has set.
She sits on her bed under the fan in her room. It creaks in a comforting repetitive rhythm. A plastic basin filled with water and salt is waiting by her feet. She lies on her back, stretching her arms above her head. She hears the crick in her neck and shoulders. Muscles expanding, searching for space. She slips one foot into the water. Then the next. The crystals of salt are rough against the soles of her feet. She slowly rubs one foot over the other. The water is a warm caress lapping at her ankles.
Eyes closed, she’s transported to the ocean. Floating. When the water rushes to fill her ears, it drowns out all thought. All control. She’s held by something much larger than herself. Her body rises up and down with the crest of each wave that carries her. It is just her, the sky and the sun in her face. Weightless. Free.
Her skin tightens. If she moves the muscles in her cheek or opens her mouth, the besan will crack. The water in the basin has cooled. The skin on her feet is wrinkling.
She remembers the Sunday ritual of her childhood. Warm coconut oil with kadhipatta (curry leaf) steeped in it. Her mothers hands massaging her head, fingers at her temples, tracing the contours of her ears to massage the place where her glasses would rest. An ache she didn’t know she had. Leaning back, she would rest her head on her mother’s midriff. A feather light caress on her eyelids, fingers moving in circles around her eyes.
Her mother was always busy. Busy in the kitchen. Busy washing clothes. Busy cleaning. Busy dusting. Busy mopping. Busy at work. Too busy to just be. With her children. With herself. The only time she remembers her mother inhabiting a place of leisure was this weekly ritual.
She is far away from her mother now. They are oceans apart. The waters that holds them flows in different channels. The current is strong. It keeps them in its hold. But every Sunday, a coconut oil and besan ritual unfolds in these different waterways. Binding them together even as they are apart.
A Note From Our Judge,
'One Sunday Afternoon' beautifully explored the Sunday ritual, both past and present. The writer crafted such a vivid sensory journey, particularly in describing that delicious moment of physical relaxation. What elevated this piece was its clever parallel between childhood memories with mum and present-day experiences - showing how these simple pleasures evolve as we grow older.
About
Deepika writes about the everyday, the ordinary, the intimate. She writes to hear her voice, to connect with herself, to honour the multitudes of stories she carries within. In the process, she finds a language of universality. Her writing can be found on Substack: https://substack.com/@deepikakhatri
This piece was written in response to the prompt Small Pleasures.
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This is stunning, Deepika! It took me back to my childhood days but also encouraged me as a mother, to keep up with my own weekend ritual of self-care and connect with my kids :)
Loved your piece, Deepika! congratulations🎉I loved all your sensual details.
It took me back to my time in an Ayurvedic Center in India when I had a full body abhyanga massage with delicious herbal concoctions and 4 massage therapists, 8 hands. I’m still writing that piece for my memoir :)