Youth

In a life such as that of a mason, Gianni Giovanni spent the little free time he got on weekends in his garret - cooking. This zany habit of his was of great annoyance to his withering wife who he was supposed to tend. However, he and his wife came to a convenient treaty when he ‘bought’ her a sparkling jade ring on their 30^th wedding anniversary. The wedding ring that he had obviously nicked the other day from the old lady’s open purse during his shift. Anybody who knew Gianni, would know that the man was devoid of even a phantom of conscience in his psyche. His body held a grace of a ballet dancer when it came to whisking the pastry batter for his Religieuse or grinding his assorted maize for a cold glass of Chicha de jora. This time his wife accorded to his cooking for his excuse that he indeed was doing so for her… Oh how soon the glib phrases rolled off Giovanni’s tongue! In this occasion of a shallow victory that he had managed to achieve for the first time in his life, he wore his favourite genuine calico Hawaiian shirt that his older brother had gifted him on the summer of ’97. He still looked every inch the chic French-man whenever he wore it. So with the usual swagger he continued his search for the pewter container of Indian spices that his in-laws had presented him with on the day of his stillborn child. He planned on making an Indian classic today – Shahi Biriyani. He very carefully prepared the dish with the recipe he had hand-written on a ballot paper that he didn’t vote on. Who cared about the opinion of an obsolete old man?  - He thought. He smelt the hot fragrance lingering in the rotary ‘tawa’ that he bought from the pawn shop near Martha’s theatre club. A locust perched on Giovanni’s shoulders and gazed at the tidbit of Biriyani remaining in the skillet for his beloved wife, who had turned 63 at the stroke of midnight.