14 December, 2024
Bhutta & Woman of Unwavering Determination | Short Story
Monsoon’s Gastronomic Memories Chapter 2
WORD COUNT : 2200
READING TIME : approx 20 minutes
Bhutta & Woman of Unwavering Determination
The Storm Within
It was one of those days when everything felt off. My mind was a cluttered mess of worries, self-doubt, and the gnawing feeling of being stuck. Deadlines loomed large, but I couldn’t seem to focus on my work. Each task felt monumental, and every small inconvenience grew into a towering obstacle. My mind buzzed with questions like, “Is this even worth it?” and “Am I cut out for this?”
Nothing seemed to flow. The cursor blinked at me like it was mocking my inability to write a single coherent sentence. “Maybe I’m not good enough,” I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on me. Frustration turned into hopelessness. It was as if I was drowning in an invisible storm, unable to see a way out.
My eyes darted to the window. Outside, the rain poured heavily, blurring everything into a haze of grey. Something about the rain always called to me. “Maybe I just need to clear my head,” I thought, grabbing my umbrella and stepping out into the storm.
A Walk in the Rain
As the rain slowed to a gentle drizzle after long hours of relentless downpour, I stepped out of my home to embrace the beauty of the weather. The tiny raindrops, delicate and refreshing, kissed the earth, and the beauty of the weather invited me to experience the world anew.
The world outside felt different. The rain had a way of washing away not just dirt from the streets but also the unnecessary noise from within. Each step I took was accompanied by the soft splash of water beneath my feet.
Monsoon is more than just a change in weather; it is a season that transforms the landscape and the lives of those within it. The streets, once bustling with activity, now reflect a slower pace as people adorned in raincoats and sheltered under umbrellas, navigate wet paths with rain-soaked footsteps, finding beauty amid downpour. The monsoon, with all its unpredictability, offers moments of introspection and a reminder of life’s cyclical nature of challenges and renewal.
Yet, this simple act of stepping outside did more than just refresh my senses—it stirred something deeper within me, a blend of inspiration and introspection.
The Aroma that Drew Me In
Venturing out into the drizzle, the enticing aroma of roasted Bhutta (Corn cob) carried by the cool breeze enticed my senses.
The earthy fragrance of rain-soaked soil, when combined with the charred and smoky aroma of Bhutta, creates an atmosphere that is both nostalgic and comforting. It is an aroma that has the power to pull even the most preoccupied passerby to a halt.
Drawn by the aroma, I found myself moving towards its source, eager to uncover the story behind it. My umbrella fought against the gusts of wind and rain drizzling onto my shoulders as I followed the fragrance.
The Sight That Stopped Me in My Tracks
My eyes scanned the street until I spotted her—a woman of unwavering determination, a figure etched against the grey backdrop of the stormy sky. There she was, her figure partially obscured by the steam rising from her makeshift Bhutta stall under the partial shelter of a tin roof.
A flickering flame from a small coal stove beneath a mesh grill, crackling and hissing as raindrops were trying to find their way into the fire. Her face, sharp with resolve yet softened by the love she held for the child perched on her hip, was illuminated intermittently by the glow of the fire. Her saree, damp and clinging to her form, failed to shield her from the rain, but she seemed unaffected by the discomfort. Her eyes, however, were steady—sharp, unyielding, and filled with purpose.
Her hands moved with practiced precision, turning each cob of corn to ensure the kernels charred evenly and fanning the flames with a tattered piece of cardboard. Occasionally, she brushed them with a lemon wedge dipped in a mixture of salt and chili powder. The sizzle of juice on the hot corn was a sound so familiar that it struck a chord deep within me—a sound that whispered of simpler times, childhood, and home.
As I approached, I noticed the child on her hip. No older than two, the little boy clutched the end of her saree with one hand and a half-eaten corn cob in the other. Despite the rain, his wide eyes gazed around with unfiltered curiosity. His presence added another layer to the story unfolding before me. The woman’s every movement—her grip on the cob, her deft turning of the corn, and her haggling with customers—was not just about earning a living. It was about survival, about pushing forward against the storm, both literal and metaphorical.
I stood under the partial shelter of a tin roof, watching her for a moment. There was something profoundly powerful about her persistence. The rain didn’t deter her. The wind didn’t slow her down. Her saree, soaked and heavy, didn’t drag her spirit. She remained rooted, a symbol of unshaken resolve. Her story was not just about selling Bhutta; it was about grit, sacrifice, and the pursuit of a better future for her child.
Her face bore the mark of someone who had seen storms much fiercer than the one falling around her. Determination. That’s what it was—pure, unshakeable determination.
Determination Amidst the Roar of the Rain
“One Bhutta, please,” I said as I stepped forward. She nodded, offering a fleeting smile that conveyed both exhaustion and gratitude. She grabbed an ear of corn from the pile, holding it over the coals with practiced grace.
Her hands, rough and calloused from years of labour, moved with grace as she placed a fresh corn cob on the grill. The charred kernels hissed as she expertly flipped it from side to side. Her eyes flickered to her child, who had begun to fidget on her hip. With a quick, soothing hum, she calmed him.
I watched her closely, curious about her story. What drove her to stand here in the rain, unbothered by the discomfort most of us would avoid at all costs? Was it poverty? Necessity? Or was it something deeper—an unspoken dream?
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the rain.
Her eyes met mine. There was a brief pause before she answered, her voice firm but kind. “Since before he was born,” she said, nodding toward her son. “Life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. You just do what you have to do.”
Her words hung in the air, weighty as the monsoon clouds above us. Her statement was a philosophy, a truth distilled from years of experience. I glanced at her son, who was now giggling as he watched a trail of rainwater flow like a tiny river along the edge of the street. His innocent joy was a sharp contrast to his mother’s relentless toil.
“What’s your dream?” I asked, half-expecting her to dismiss the question as pointless.
Her gaze turned inward for a moment as though searching for an answer. “My dream?” she echoed, then turned her focus back to the charring corn. “To give him a life where he doesn’t have to stand in the rain like this.” She pressed the lemon wedge against the corn, the tangy aroma of citrus and spice filling the air. “I’m saving up to send him to school. No rain, no sun, no storm will stop me from doing that.”
The Lesson in Grit
Her response pierced my heart. I’d thought I’d approached her to buy Bhutta, but instead, I’d received a lesson in perseverance. We all have moments when life’s storms leave us drenched, cold, and weary. In those moments, it’s tempting to seek shelter and wait for the downpour to end. But not her. She’d chosen to face it head-on, to move forward despite it.
With every sale, she took another step toward her dreams. The woman’s resilience in the face of adversity was apparent. Though the weather posed challenges, she continued to work, driven by the hope of providing for her family.
I stood there watching her. There were other vendors who retreated from the rain with an excuse to seek shelter. But she didn’t. She stayed. She persisted. I don’t know how long I stood there, mesmerised by her resilience. Drops of rain blurred my vision, or perhaps it was something else that made my eyes well up.
My mind flashed back to my desk, the blinking cursor, and my endless stream of self-doubt. Here I was, crumbling under the weight of intangible thoughts and unseen pressures, while this woman stood in the storm with fire in her eyes and purpose in her heart.
“If she can do this, what’s stopping me?” The thought hit me with startling clarity. Her life was harder than mine in so many ways, and yet she didn’t give up. She faced her challenges head-on, transforming the rain into an opportunity rather than a setback.
At that moment, something shifted in me. Strength is not about the absence of obstacles. It’s about the courage to keep going in spite of them.
My Bhutta was ready, and she handed it to me, carefully wrapping it in a piece of newspaper. I handed her the money, and she offered a small smile before returning to her task. No words were exchanged, but so much was understood.
The Taste of Realisation
As I took a bite of the Bhutta, the flavors burst onto my tongue—the sweetness of the corn, the smokiness of the charred kernels, and the tangy kick of lemon and chili. It was a taste that needed no refinement. Simple, honest, and unforgettable—just like the woman who’d made it.
Each kernel was a reminder that beauty comes from change, from heat, and from enduring the fire. My life wasn’t falling apart. It was simply in the process of transformation.
The rain didn’t seem as cold anymore. I stood there eating, letting the rain soak into my clothes, no longer rushing to seek cover. Sometimes, you need to feel the rain on your skin to remember that discomfort is part of growth. The woman had taught me that much.
My thoughts felt clearer. I realised that, like the woman before me, I too had a fire within. It just needed to be stoked. I had to face my own storm instead of hiding from it.
Sometimes, all it takes is a stranger’s silent struggle to remind you of your own strength.
As I walked away, the warmth of the Bhutta lingered on my tongue. I glanced back one last time. She was still there, unwavering as ever, feeding the flames that fueled both her livelihood and her dreams. Her eyes were no longer in the rain. They were on the horizon beyond it.
Lesson from the Rain-Drenched Street: Strength is Forged in the Fire
At that moment, I understood that every storm—literal or figurative—has its end. But to reach that end, you have to keep going. Not every dream is achieved in grand, sweeping gestures. Some dreams are built kernel by kernel, like roasted Bhutta, with patience, resilience, and quiet determination.
The rain continued to fall, but in my heart, a new warmth had been kindled. It’s funny how a simple Bhutta, a smoky street-side snack, can become a symbol of unyielding strength. Her story was etched in the cracks of the cob’s surface, a reminder that the world’s most enduring stories aren’t always found in books. Sometimes, they’re found on the streets, under grey skies, where women of unwavering determination turn embers into opportunities.
Her story, though seemingly simple, was one of strength and perseverance. Each Bhutta she prepared seemed to carry with it a sense of purpose, a reflection of her determination to overcome the adversities that life had placed before her.
Each sale she made was a small victory, a testament to her ability to rise above the difficulties that could easily deter her. She embodied the spirit of countless individuals who face hardships with grace and determination, never losing sight of their goals.
That night, as I sat by my window listening to the rain’s soft drumming, I thought of her. The rain would stop. The clouds would clear. But her spirit—her unyielding spirit—would continue to burn bright, like the flame that had charred the corn and kindled hope in my heart.
When life feels overwhelming and every challenge seems like a storm, think of the woman roasting Bhutta in the rain. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the storm to pass. She lit her fire amid it.
You don’t have to wait for perfect conditions to keep moving forward. Just like the Bhutta needs the fire to become flavorful, you too must endure the trials that shape you. Every obstacle, every setback, every moment of doubt—these are the flames that refine your character.
So the next time you feel defeated, step out into the rain. Watch the world with open eyes. You might just see someone like her—a silent teacher, showing you that perseverance isn’t about waiting for the storm to end. It’s about learning how to walk in it.
