Chapter 9: The Thing He Forgot

When I opened my eyes, bright sunlight was pouring in through the window.

“Whaaaat!? That idiot Shambu could’ve at least woken me up if I was late! Did he just leave because I didn’t come out? Ah! He doesn’t even know my room number!”

Startled, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom.

The moment hot water from the shower hit me, I remembered.

Today was a day off.

Most of the shops in the spice market were closed on Mondays, which meant Maheshvara, Arjun’s restaurant inside the market, was closed as well.

Employees got four Mondays off each month, plus an occasional extra day if necessary.

After finishing my shower, I left a trail of dripping water across the floor and collapsed onto the sofa with only a towel wrapped around my waist.

All the tension immediately drained away again.

“It’s my day off… I got worked up for nothing.”

I checked the clock.

Only 9 a.m.

I started wondering what to do.

This wasn’t France, where I had lived for years.

It wasn’t England either.

This was my first day off in India.

When Evan was alive, he used to drag me all over the place.

In France, I usually bought a sandwich and spent the day sitting in a park under the sun.

In England, I mostly spent my free time drinking.

Nothing else really came to mind.

Perfumery had been both my job and my hobby.

I had never developed any other interests.

“Maybe I should go sightseeing?”

At first, I considered resting all day.

But since it was my first time in India, I felt tempted to explore.

Then I shook my head.

I needed to master roti as quickly as possible if I wanted to move on to the next stage.

Only then could I start learning spice dishes and eventually uncover the secret behind Arjun’s masala.

“I’m not here on vacation. I need to learn quickly and get back.”

After making up my mind, I immediately called the front desk.

Beep. Beep.

“Namaste. How may we help you?”

“Hello, this is room 801. Could you arrange a taxi for me? In about thirty minutes.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Thank you.”

After getting dressed, I headed down to the lobby and got into the taxi.

My destination was the spice market.

Most spice merchants were off today, but not all of them.

And it was the only market I knew.

More importantly, I remembered seeing a shop there that sold something I needed.

As the taxi headed toward the market, I had the nagging feeling that I had forgotten something important.

No matter how hard I thought, I couldn’t remember what it was.

Eventually, I pushed the feeling aside.

When I arrived at the taxi drop-off area near the spice market, a memory suddenly surfaced.

Shambu stole my bag here, didn’t he?

The moment I got out of the taxi that day, he had snatched it and run.

Thinking about that, I stepped out of the taxi.

Then I spotted a familiar face nearby.

“Shambu?”

“I-Ishaan?”

He visibly flinched when he saw me.

His reaction immediately made me suspicious.

This idiot isn’t here trying to pickpocket people again, is he?

As far as I knew, he had promised Arjun never to do that again.

Standing in the exact same spot made him look incredibly suspicious.

“You aren’t…?”

“I’m not! Absolutely not!”

He waved both hands frantically.

Then he held up a rope he was carrying.

“I-I’m here to carry luggage.”

“Luggage?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you I needed money because of my younger sister?”

“Oh, really? Then good luck with that… wait.”

According to Arjun, Shambu didn’t even have a younger sister.

He was using that excuse again.

I nodded absentmindedly and started walking away.

Then an idea struck me.

I’d noticed that many shoppers in the spice market hired porters.

The alleys were narrow and crowded, making it difficult for vehicles to enter.

So people hired workers to carry their purchases to the market entrance.

I planned to buy several things myself.

Having Shambu help wouldn’t be a bad idea.

He knew the market far better than I did, and he could help communicate with vendors.

“Shambu, if you’re looking for work, want to carry my stuff today? I’ll deduct whatever your help is worth from the money you owe me.”

He thought for a moment.

“How long?”

“Not sure. Maybe one or two hours?”

“Fine. But since it’s my day off, you have to count it as double.”

The audacity of this guy.

It sounded like he thought I was hiring him.

I found it ridiculous, but nodded anyway.

“Deal.”

Just as we were about to leave, he called out from behind me.

“You’ll buy me breakfast too, right?”

How could one person be this shameless?

It was around 10:30 in the morning.

Normally nobody bought breakfast for hired workers.

But I had skipped breakfast myself.

Besides, I was already planning to buy Kathi Rolls.

He’d shot laser beams from his eyes yesterday because I’d eaten both of them.

I figured I’d make up for it.

“Fine.”

“Great!”

We headed into the market and went straight to the old woman’s Kathi Roll stall near the entrance.

The same one from yesterday.

As soon as we arrived, Shambu gave me a cold look.

“Ishaan, weren’t you supposed to be rich? You’re only buying Kathi Rolls?”

What kind of breakfast had he been expecting?

I grinned.

“I’m rich, so I’ll buy you two.”

Shambu stared at me in disbelief.

For some reason, teasing him was incredibly fun.

* * *

“Ahhh. That was good.”

Shambu and I had finished two Kathi Rolls each and were now sipping drinks.

The weather was getting hotter, and the rolls alone made us thirsty.

After finishing a bottle of cola that tasted slightly different from the one I usually drank, Shambu asked:

“So what exactly did you come here to buy, Ishaan?”

He seemed curious.

I started listing things.

“A tawa, a portable gas burner, atta, ghee, a mixing bowl, a water bowl… Oh, and a cutting board too. I’m planning to practice on my days off.”

A tawa was the traditional curved Indian cooking pan.

Along with it, I needed a gas burner, whole wheat flour, ghee, bowls, and a board for kneading dough.

All the essentials for making roti.

“Ah, so you’re practicing roti.”

“Exactly.”

“Then let’s buy the tawa and burner first. They sell cutting boards and bowls there too. Oh, and you’ll need a rolling pin.”

“Oh right! I almost forgot. Thanks, Shambu. Do you know a place?”

“Of course.”

He had remembered something I had forgotten and even knew where to buy it.

The only people I knew in India were Arjun and Shambu.

Despite his history as a thief, I found myself relying on him.

Following him through the market, we arrived at a store selling cooking equipment.

The owner was a middle-aged man with an impressive beard.

I selected a tawa large enough for restaurant-style roti, a gas burner, several gas canisters, a cutting board, a rolling pin, and a few bowls.

The shopkeeper typed something into a calculator and showed it to me.

“3,000 rupees?”

That’s about fifty thousand won?

The price didn’t seem terrible.

But I didn’t know local prices well enough to judge.

Before I could decide, Shambu stepped forward and started bargaining with the owner.

A few moments later, the owner entered a new number.

“1,200 rupees?”

How had he cut the price by more than half?

I stared at Shambu in shock.

He crossed his arms proudly.

“Well, if you’re grateful, a tip would be nice.”

He had done a good job.

But I felt like spoiling him too much would only make him worse.

“I’ll buy you lunch instead. Keep helping me bargain.”

“Fine. But no Kathi Rolls.”

“Deal.”

Next, we visited a grocery store that sold flour and ghee.

It was close to Maheshvara.

According to Shambu, Arjun bought supplies there too.

When I asked for atta and ghee, I discovered there were many kinds of ghee.

They were categorized by the animal that produced the milk.

“This is cow-milk ghee. Most Indian cooking uses this.”

“This is buffalo-milk ghee. It has richer flavor.”

“This is A2 ghee, made from Sahiwal or Red Sindhi cows. It’s easier to digest.”

“And this one is goat-milk ghee. It has a unique taste.”

“Ghee isn’t just one thing?”

“Of course not.”

“Then which one do we use for roti? Which one does our restaurant use?”

“The owner says regular cow-milk ghee is enough. That’s what we use too. This specific brand.”

“Then I’ll take one bottle.”

After thinking it over, I bought the same brand Arjun normally used.

We returned to the hotel on Shambu’s motorcycle.

After unloading everything in my room, we had lunch at the hotel restaurant.

Shambu complained the entire time.

I thought he’d be happy with hotel food.

Instead, he looked at the menu prices and said I should’ve bought food from the market and just given him half the money I saved.

This was coming from someone who licked his plate clean.

Seriously, this guy has such a weird personality.

Anyway, after lunch I returned to my room and immediately began preparing for practice.

The only thing I needed now was water.

Following Arjun’s instructions from yesterday, I started making dough.

Ten minutes of kneading flour and water.

Then another five minutes after adding ghee.

Arjun had said letting it rest for thirty minutes improved the texture and flavor, so I divided the dough into portions, rolled one out, and placed it on the tawa.

Sizzle.

A rich aroma filled the room.

Small bubbles began appearing on the surface.

I waited a moment, preparing to flip it.

Then suddenly—

Ring! Ring!

The telephone started ringing.

It was probably from the lobby.

Wondering why the hotel was calling, I hurried over and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Namaste. Sir, there’s a phone call for you from France.”

“France?”