food, humour



Everybody knows that you don’t drink water after you eat fish! But nevertheless, the fish shall have its revenge. No matter what.
Let’s take fish fry for instance. It’ll go all the way to your stomach, and the food and water you gulped down with it, will be like doctors who say, “The patient is very critical now, he/she has sustained 89% burns.” And then, the nutrition you so rightfully deserve shall be snatched from you, and used up by the fried fishes.


If you think that fish curry is safe… then nooooo. Think again – they are worse. They’re fishes in water! They race down your oesophagus, and once in the stomach, start partying. Party all night, party all night. Well, not all night – they drink,dance and make noise (that’s when your tummy vibrates).


And when all the food is over, only still water left, they’ve had enough. They make whirlpools inside the stomach, hit the walls – till you feel so uncomfortable that it is all expelled out of your stomach and flushed down the toilet.

description, food, The Detective Diaries

The Detective Diaries #1



As a kid, I was very much in awe of Lord Krishna, because I felt he was very much like me. He loved food, especially butter, and so did I. I loved to explore, in particular, all that I was not supposed to explore. Those that were forbidden to me.
My mom is super efficient, she finishes all her chores like lightning. And then come teach me, make sure I do my homework on time and so on. So, the curry for the dinner would be ready by evening. It can be tomato curry, soya bean or even paneer. And I loved to eat them, more than the idli or chapatti, hot and instantly. But I wasn’t allowed to. I had to wait till dinner. No way. 
So I would sneak into the kitchen, whenever my mom is not around, and eat, and would empathise with Krishna. These moms, they make yummy food, and then ask you to wait. Why do they let us stare at the food, and not eat it, I would tell Krishna. But there was no use in being sneaky. No matter how noiseless and sly I am, mom always caught me. I don’t know how, but she came to know. I believed she had an exceptionally good measurement of how much she made.
Obviously, I didn’t give up the habit. A few years later, I still ate what I wanted to from my kitchen, by then, I would almost wait for her to catch me . I was enjoying it in fact, her scolding me, and then I would run away flashing all my 32 teeth at her, including the missing ones. There were two or three incidents, where I went up to the kitchen, picked up the spoon, brought it to my mouth, but had to ‘abort mission’ as I heard footsteps. But my mom would still catch me, and be so sure that I did eat. So much so that even I, for a second, would wonder if maybe I did? 
So this made me think. How can she still know I had gone there, even when I hadn’t even had a spoon. There was no difference in the amount of what she had made, and I had always been cautious not to leave traces. Then how?
And one day, as I was about to eat again, it hit me. The spoon! The spoon gave me away. My mom, right-handed, would leave the spoon at the right side of the utensil. I would pick it up with my left hand – I am left-handed – and leave it on the left side. So when my mom entered th kitchen, she didn’t even have to open the lid to catch me.
But after all this, I still got caught. This time because I became a little too confident, and ate too much. There was an obvious decrease in the quantity.




I was reading something Rijul (one of my classmates) had posted on his blog, about tomato. The post was about how he used to hate the vegetable, but how he ended up loving it. The experience of reading “When I Hated Tomatoes” was very nostalgic for me, as it reminded me of my relationship with the vegetable – Bitter gourd.

As a kid, I was not really very ‘picky’ about what I eat – except for fish curry perhaps, because I always expected the fish to jump out of the utensil. Not that I would reject food nowadays, but then there are food items I avoid. If Rijul’s was a Hate – Love Relationship, then mine was a Love – Hate Relationship with bitter gourd.

Now that I look back at those days, I come to the conclusion that I was a rather funny kid. I loved bitter gourd, so much that I couldn’t wait for it to be cooked. I would run to my mother, and eat raw slices of it, while she would be busy cutting them. Yes. As crazy as it sounds (to me), I used to interrupt her just so I get a slice.

Now, I am not sure if this was so because I was too hungry to notice it or simply because I did not let the bitterness come in between me and the vegetable. Maybe, I started judging the vegetable, which would be rather sad. Or maybe I simply wanted to stay away from the bitterness. Now, cooked or raw, the vegetable is a big no-no. I run away at the sight of it, for no matter what you did, the bitterness always stayed.

Nevertheless, I shall always cherish those sweet memories I have with you, bitter gourd.

food, travel

Ragi Mudhhe


One of the professors had asked the class to go to a military hotel and have ‘ragi mudhhe’ compulsorily. Because I felt the lunch break was not long enough, and I would be fast asleep as soon as I hit my sofa (I don’t require a bed) I couldn’t go. Until the weekend.

I had been searching for a Saturday that would also be a holiday. And that was this weekend – 17 July. There were 9 of us -me, mom, dad, my grandma’s, uncle, aunt and 3 of my cousins – in two cars. We were on our way to Coorg, and my uncle was adamant that if we’re going via Mysore, then he’s going to get down. Maybe I should have let him. Or maybe not, it was his car after all. But as a result, we lost our way and went around in circles, even squares perhaps. I’m not sure, as I was happily half asleep at the back seat, between my dad and my aunt, registering the occasional GPS noises, especially the “GPS is lost”one. It would make me laugh in my sleep, it sounded so ironically funny – even the GPS can get lost.

I thought we’d reach by lunch. Nope. Tea? Nope. It was finally 6 by the time we reached – we’d started at 7:30 a.m. And then I started blowing bubbles in all directions, until my cousin said he can clean his cup (of tea) himself. I need not help him. My father reassured him that there were enough bathrooms, he need not worry.

Then I was frantically typing an assignment on my phone -which I planned to complete once I reached, but it took forever for us to ‘reach’. And then I went to sleep.

The next day, we all woke up late, and has an even later breakfast.  And started back to Bangalore again. It felt like we’d travelled more than we’d stayed at the house (we’d rented it for a day).

On my way back, I did notice a board saying ‘ family military hotel’. But then the building looked like it was about to fall off next time it rains there. And I missed it by this much.

Maybe I should have mentioned earlier that this was not about the ragi mudhhe I ate, but about the one I couldn’t eat.

On asking one of my friends about ragi mudhhe, what he said reminded me of something I’d eaten once. Just once. But I remember it so clearly, because I’d thought it was Gobi Manchurian, and greedily jumped into eating it. But alas, once in my mouth, I realized my mistake. Neither was it Gobi, nor was it Manchurian. Ever since I made sure what I was eating was what I thought it was.