The Simple Delights of Life (Original Short Story)

She was all about the simple delights of life. A dollop of butter on a steaming hot masala dosa. A brook of melting ghee cascading down a hill of piping hot bisibelebath. Streaks of mango pickle adorning cool curds on a bed of hot rice. A half-submerged crouton floating in a pond of tomato soup. The crispy edges of a patiently cooked rava dosa. The embroidery of coconut flakes on an akki rotti fresh off the stove. A little child tugging at the hem of mother's dress as she cooks, eyeing each dough-coated vegetable as it dives into the sizzling oil.

It was all about the simple things for her. Well, except for the fact that the little child was not her child. In fact, she had no idea who the child was. The little one had just appeared out of nowhere. One moment they were ringing her doorbell and the next, they were in the kitchen. She hadn't had the heart to say no when the child eyed the veritable feast she was cooking up for her lunch party. She gave them bits of all the food and then fixed up a large plate of food for them. She took them to the dining table, sat them down and helped them eat. 

She didn't know the name of the child or where they were from. She asked a few times but received no reply. She didn't know what to do. She refilled the plate and watched the child ravenously gorge on the food. Poor child, she thought. She got up to refill the plate again but the little hand held on to her wrist and stopped her. Ahh, must be sated, she thought. Again she tried to ask the child who they were, albeit of no use. 

The child got up and left after treating her to a warm smile. She didn't follow the child. Something told her this wasn't the last time she would see the child. Her intuition was right, the child appeared on her doorstep the next time she had a lunch party. She began hosting more lunch parties for the sake of seeing the child again. The child did not fail either. They were there before every lunch party. This continued for years and yet the child never seemed to grow any older. 

It was all about the simple delights in life. Hearing the joyous giggle of a tiny child. Watching their doll-like face light up upon seeing candy. The entire fist of a little one struggling to wrap around an adult's little finger. The warm feeling spreading through one's being when they hold a small child. The way all children looked the same to her and she never realized that it was a different child each time. The scrape of the now-empty utensils when she gave the child the last serving. The heartwarming satisfaction that her cooking gave the child who ate. The way their life changed when she fed them a nice home-cooked meal. The nearly inaudible thud as their body hit the ground when they left her home. The sprinkle of soft soil on their graves. The little traces of poison in their systems. The non-existent lunch party. The next child who visited her home.