'Perseverance' by Sravanthi Challapalli

This was the last time she would look for a mud pot, Maggie told herself as she approached the lady selling her wares by the road. She had bought several pieces of earthenware for their purported advantages, but she had gained only grief.

When she had set up home thirty years ago, fancy boutiques had begun to sell terra cotta stuff in a back-to-the-roots movement. Maggie bought two clay dishes to set curds in. Their porous walls would absorb the moisture and thicken it. But the curds stank. She now used those dishes to store keys, buttons and pins. A small wok she had bought began to darken and smell strange after just days on the fire, incinerating the mustard and the chillies no sooner than they hit the oil.

Her latest dietitian insisted she drink water stored in mud pots. It was good for her metabolism and her heartburn. Maggie had bought and discarded three, they wouldn’t stop oozing all over even after she cured them as per instructions. “Buy a fourth one,” the dietitian insisted. So here she was, on a scorching May afternoon, the air rippling with heat, preparing to take home another failure.

“You can use it right away, it is well-seasoned,” the vendor said. She held up the pot and hit it with her knuckles, producing a loud, clear sound. Maggie tried it, but her knuckles hurt. She shrugged and paid for it. She washed it, filled it with water and the next morning, crept into the kitchen where she had installed it on two thick Turkish towels and felt it gingerly. Hooray! It was moist but not leaking, just as it should be. Joyously, Maggie reached for a glass, dipped it into the pot and drank her fill.