The monsoon rain taps against the tin roof of your family's ancient chai stall, puddles forming like mirrors to the past. Chiku the crow flutters in, dropping a soggy envelope on the table. "From the realm of 1984," he croaks. "Smells like regret and clove."
Inside the envelope? A tea-stained recipe card written in your nani's hand:
"Memory Masala"3 pods cardamom, 1 stick cinnamon, 7 seconds of held breath, and a promise you never kept.
You handle the papers with care, least they tear, as they stubbornly try to stick to the tabletop of your chai shop with moisture. You know that the year on the envelop was the year of Chiku's death. He has been uncharacteristically quite ever since he landed on his usual spot on the hanging light. You can hear it rocking as he shifts uncontrollably on it. When you turn your head to look at him he just changes his position to face the corner of the stall instead and continues to rock. You move the letter to a place where it can be left to dry.
You don't know what he expects from the reality you will be shown. Does he want to see a reality where he still lived? Is he too scared to see the alternate reality at all, fearing it may be doomed to repeat the same mistakes? Would you even be able to control what you are shown even if you knew what Chiku wanted?
You decide not to broach the subject. This wasn't supposed to be happening now. You knew there was a possibility you would get this year with one of your recipes but not like this. Not so soon on what was only your second try, when you were not even sure if the events that were occurring were actually real and you weren't just hallucinating them.