Festival
time. Diwali round the corner, Christmas fast approaching, and Navratri just a
turn of the clock ago, this is the best time of the year, especially for a
foodie like me. The sweets and the savories filling all the boxes around the
house would make anyone salivate, and yes, wish for more.
But
how would you feel if the aromas mingled in your nasal cavities, and the tiniest
sight of the boxes made you open your mouth, but then, you couldn’t taste even
a single morsel, let alone eat it. That’s my nightmare. The temptation to eat
something is directly proportional to the flavor of the dish. That doesn’t make
a lot of sense to me as I would devour anything put in a plate in front of me.
But
the nightmare. There are no vacations, and in addition comes submission week during
Diwali. That’s not even comparable to the fear I have, and it all resides in
one memory. When it all went wrong, and then, nightmare time.
It
all began with a minute irritation in my nose, which soon developed into a
resilient cough, and then morphed into fever. (Ice cream sometimes does take
its toll, especially in the dry heat of October.)
Soon,
all the lights went missing from the background, and all I could see through
the day and night was the ceiling, and the incessantly moving fan. Most importantly,
all I could eat was rice and curd, with counted grains of salt, and no spice;
as the prepared savories and sweets delicately called out to me from their positions
in the kitchen, which seemed miles away.
All
my cries of desperation went in vain, and all my wishes just drained away. It was
more than pain, it was more than just a normal fever; it was a day of terrible
torture and the festival diluted away with time. Rest was all I could do, and whining
was the only way to pass the time.
The
rest had its effect, and the next morning, I was walking, and talking, but not
yet eating. The layout of the kitchen had been changed completely, as I pitifully
discovered on one of my pursuits around the kitchen (which included looking in
the topmost cupboard for a drink of water). But, the sight at the dining table
lightened me, and made me feel completely alright. There was my plate, with the
special “illness” food, but it wasn’t distinguishable from the others. As I
began eating, my face changed from a smile to a grimace, and returned, rather
embarrassingly, to a smile when my dad began eating enthusiastically from his
plate.
Well,
that’s a thing in my past. It was about the feeling brought about only by
family, and the things going unsaid, but being understood so clearly. That’s what
children are to their family. They bring in the inspiration, and they remove
the desperation; they bring in stability, unity, and also equality. And they
themselves are the unsaid captains, being able to get their wishes fulfilled, without
a word being said.
To
mention another incident, which my mother loves to quote, like just…always. When
I was a teeny tiny kid, the intake of green vegetables was a necessity, and due
to my tender health, I was only allowed homemade food. My dad did not have
quite a liking to the green vegetables (he still doesn’t have it as much as my
mother does), but due to me, the child of the house, he was forced to eat it. And
due to the prohibition of the outside food, all I can say is that, the reason
for the good health of my family right now is just due to that, and my mom’s
wonderful cooking, which is I guess the reason why I love food so much.
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