I invite one of my friends(Lets call him M) over for dinner to show off my culinary skills. Rajma is K’s favorite and we narrow down our options to rajma, roti and rice. Fried potatoes I answer him if I can make it early from office. But as expected, the day you wanna come home early , you’d get exceptionally late. So, my client call gets extended, its pouring work at office and cats, dogs and buffaloes outside.I finally reach home and start cooking.
The pressure cooker is still whistling , when I hear the doorbell. So, I am not even mid-way and M is already here and the gas in the cylinder ends. I re-ignite the burner, but to no avail… Murphy’s law… I guess.. K sweetly kept out the single burner we had as an option. Cooking becomes real slow though. Both K and M behave like the perfect gentlemen assuring me that they’d be fine waiting and asking me every now and then if I needed their help. The rain has stopped but the moisture is making me sweat a lot. As I curse the heat and the moisture and knead the dough, I already feel drained, tired and the chef in me is not happy. As I make my way through the rotis, I finally have the last dough ball, too big for a single roti and too small for two. I decide to make chini-parantha . And then I remember Dad. Slowly tears start flowing my eyes… silently. Reminds me of the timings when mum’d be cooking and we’d request her to make us her fabulous chini-parantha. Unadultered happiness!! But whatever I do now, I don’t experience the same happiness anymore. I call on to Dad to make me feel he is with me, stand by me and talk to me. Suddenly, a cold breeze started blowing through the kitchen window. As I glance outside, the moon has come out of the clouds and is smiling at me, the leaves are fluttering and shining under the moon light. The breeze dries away my tears and suddenly I feel good, feel like Dad is standing there right by my side. I remember the amused look he gave each time I tried my hand at cooking. Suddenly, I am in a different world when K steps in. He resembles Dad, his eyes , his hair.. I hug him softly, he doesn’t know why.. But now I know, I know Dad you’re still there for me… I just have to call out, I will , I just cannot let you go.
P.S. This is a repost. Murphy’s law did strike again. While I was writing this blog, my machine restarted and I had to restart writing. Also I dint mention that the rajma was still uncooked and the quantity could have fed 3 more people.And K’s lappy has crashed, so no scope of any more blogging this weekend. Have a happy weekend people!!
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