So, this is one of those incidents that makes me believe that I’m still a child at heart. While I’m generally busy with my phone and a monthly magazine, Reader’s digest preferably, on a train. I usually don’t talk, with strangers, haha you can obviously judge me by saying that I took my mother’s instructions too seriously. But it’s not that, I’m just better off alone. Talking to myself , writing to myself. I’m always talking you know. See, I got carried away.

So there I was, at my seat, with earphones, and then I smell something, green chillies, lemon and onions. The childhood favourite was coming, it would just pass by my seat. But then, the tragedy happens, the little guy, beside me asks him to make him a bengal chana masala. I remember, whenever we used to travel, I and mummy made sure, the chana wala doesn’t go unnoticed. We used to have 2 chongas each, a conical food holding piece, that they generally serve them in.

So there’s this guy, little one, feasting on my childhood crush, and I’m just looking at him like a labrador, for his daily dose of bone. But I can’t have it. Loose motion, shhh! Don’t tell anyone otherwise they would know who was the farter they were searching for. Actually, one of my roommates cooked egg curry yesterday. Obviously, he’s not a pro, and he doesn’t know my masala doses. It was tasty though. All those gravy, mixed with onions, garlic, coriander, chillies and on top, the head of the department, the eggs. Doesn’t sound fantastic but it was. Have it just once, and you’ll enjoy it forever, the masalas, he’s not a pro. I told you, to not let me talk, I usually get carried away.

I now know how a diabetic feels when the sweets are right in front of him. I am fond of sweets, and I’m therefore aware of my future. God help me. On one hand, you have that childhood crush staring at you, like comeon, how can you not eat me? I am your best childhood memory. I’m like what? Seriously? You’re not my girlfriend so stop flirting, on the other hand there’s your little stomach, begging in front of you, for your own good. Suddenly, the masala maker, starts moving, and It feels like seperation. No! Even breakups won’t help you realise the feeling of letting go of your favourite food.
There he was , going away, from me, and I keep looking at the little boy, hoping he would lend me some of it. What if he didn’t? I would snatch! Bad bad bad! Bad guy! I start telling myself. But then something happens, I get up. High! And then I shout, Hey! Hey you masala maker, feel free to add lots of melodrama, because it’s like the salad to the fried-rice chicken. Then the masala starts shaking with the bengal peas, like a turbine inside his tin cylindrical box. The lemons, the chillies, the onions and the coriander, I could feel the childhood being recooked in front of me. Then he says! Finally! ” Sir! Lijiye aapka chana masala” ( Sir! Your bengal pea masala).
Long enough, but it took me just 2 mins to finish it all, and I could hear the stomach abusing me. Like all haters, I did the same, I ignored the stomach, and started talking to myself, and then to you guys.