I recently read two posts about train journeys, one by Ravish and the other by Varahi . And my experience six years ago was sort of similar to that of varahi’s, and so kind hearts, here it is!
This was six years ago, I was thirteen, but I didn’t differ much from what I am today! Back then too, when the lioness and lamb debated, the lioness won, and I was possessive; damn possesive when it comes to my food.
Imagine. Imagine a Superkid, trashing goons and hooligans left and right. *Dishoom* *aye bisha* Beating them up with a pencil and books, till they fall at her feet and surrender the kacha mango bite, HER kacha mango bite. Any guesses who you imagined just now?😉
But the tale of this lioness has a very sad twist! I was tricked! Yes, I was.
An old uncle and his wife were accompanying me and my aunt to Salem, our copassengers on our journey from Bengaluru to Salem.
Uncle did not even wait for the train to leave Bengaluru station, he and his wife started munching Bhakarwadis. He seemed to enjoy the Bhakarwadis so much, that he almost forgot that there were people around. The gargantuan munches made a few people come and have a look at our compartment. I’m not even kidding. The Bhakarwadis looked homemade. The golden brown colour, dark brown filling, it’s hard to forget the Colors and the smell.
He then took out Khakaras. They looked so tempting, trust me. I was a die heart fan of the Khakaras that my friend used to bring, and this looked much tastier. I was a good, well mannered girl. I didn’t stare at them often. I took the seat next to the window and pretended to look out. My aunt acted as though she was reading a book, but her mouth was actually watering.
If you thought it was over,wait, then came delicious golden brown Theplas, and then mini samosas, muffins, misti dahi, yellow salted lays, salted cashews, fried moong dal and a lot more. One after the other. I pretended not to look around, but I was tempted like never before. A well mannered girl doesn’t ask for food. A well mannered girl just keeps smelling the aromas and pretends like she doesn’t eat anything that a stranger offers, though I would break the well mannered girl rules if he bothered to offer.
Now, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I just remembered that my mother had packed kachoris for us, she had recently learnt to make khasta kachori. I was so busy seeing the grass greener the other side, that I forgot to water my own grass! I told my aunt; my foolish aunt took out the big box of kachoris, took out two, gave me one, she ate the other. Now it was my turn. 😈
Uncle said: “are these kachoris?”
Uncle: made out of dal?
Uncle: home made?
Uncle: without garlic?
Before he could ask the next question, my aunt took out the big box of kachori and offered him. He took two, one for him and one for his wife. All my dreams of tempting him were shattered. I really wanted him to feel the way I did, but my aunt, she was always this fair and lovely to the world around.
Uncle munched loudly and declared that the kachoris were soft, tasty, crunchy. My aunt couldn’t control her excitement and offered him more. He took three more this time, two for him and one for his wife. The big box now had just one kachori which my aunt had to offer the uncle’s friend who visited him from another compartment and announced that he is the guest to our compartment. When someone utters the word guest, every Sita, Dick and Harpreet in India becomes Aamir Khan. “Athithi devo bhava”
So, my mom packed kachoris for me and strangers ate all of them.
Now, I realised that I could ask uncle to share his food too, 😏I mean maybe my aunt wouldn’t scold me later for doing so. After all uncle ji, the first principle of economics says, ‘people face trade-offs’. Eating my kachoris implies sharing your food. 😈😝
I said, “uncle, did your wife make the Khakaras and Theplas you were eating? Let’s have it, it’ll be fun”
The reply I got was priceless. “No beta. Actually I’m a follower of Jainism. In Jains, we have a lot of Tapasya to do. We do not eat food after 6:00 p.m.” I looked at my aunt’s wrist watch. It was 6:07 p.m. I looked out of the window and sang sad songs. Uncle read some Champak magazine and gave his friend a high five after laughing for five minutes. He then burped so loudly that the man sleeping on the upper berth of the neighbouring compartment woke up and rushed to ask when would the train reach Erode…
And…I forgot. Forgot that my mom can make khasta kachori too. I dailed up my mom just now and told her that I want khasta kachoris. Thank you for the kachoris in advance, Varahi, it’s always so beneficial to read your posts. 😉🙂 💙