Doodh ka Karz

“I don’t understand why we have to boil milk everyday,” says mom, as she rinses the sand and grime from the plastic milk sachets that the milk vendor drops on our doorstep every morning. “Why can’t we just use it as is?”

“I’m not sure it’s safe to drink without boiling first,” says dad, busy pouring decoction for his morning coffee.

“But it clearly says ‘pasteurized’,” points out mom. “Don’t you think this is a sheer waste of time?” Snipping off a small triangle of plastic, mom watches in dismay as creamy milk gushes out and splatters on the black kitchen countertop.

“You can’t be too cautious here,” says dad, before finally admitting, “I need boiled milk for my coffee.”

In the last few weeks, the humans have started their day standing in front a hot stove, paying obeisance to a vessel of milk instead of their kuldevta. Despite their best efforts to not let the milk boil over, they have scalded, spilled, dropped, spoiled and wasted enough milk to nourish a calf.

“Have you picked a date to boil milk yet?” was the first question people had asked them before they moved into their rental home.

“Er … we’ll move in as soon as our new refrigerator arrives,” said mom.

“Yes, yes, that’s OK. But when are you boiling milk? Aadi maasam is around the corner, you know?”

“Like I said, we’re just waiting for a call from the refrigerator guy,” explained mom to shocked onlookers.

“Are you out of your minds?” grandpa had thundered. “Nobody moves into a new home without boiling milk first. It’s extremely inauspicious.”

“But we never boiled milk in the U.S., and we lived very happily for 12 ½ years,” said mom.

“That doesn’t matter,” roared grandpa furiously. “This is India. You have to follow tradition here. In fact, today is a muhurtham naal … very auspicious for boiling milk.”

“But we don’t have a gas connection yet,” protested mom. “In fact, we don’t even have the house keys. The owners are out of town.”

A compromise was reached after tempers flared like angry mustard seeds dropped in hot oil, and bottled badam-flavored milk from Aavin was consumed under the scorching sun in front of a locked house.

With the arrival of a refrigerator, the humans have started freezing excess milk - a practice that struck mom as rather odd at first - but is now seen as a blessing, given the rate at which milk in this house boileth over.

Last week, as she stood scouring another charred pot at the sink, mom decided to take life in her own hands. That evening, as soon as dad returned home, she announced triumphantly, “Guess what? I drank raw milk today, and I’m still alive. See?" Upon receiving no response, she persisted, "No loose motion either. Good, no?”

The man did not even bother to dignify the question with a reaction.