Last year , I visited my sister . My eldest sister . She is seven years older to me , and is quite bossy . Bossy and maternal . Are they synonyms ?
Whenever I visit her , she treats me like a kid sister, who needs to be fed , clothed , smothered , showered with gifts , etc . Notwithstanding the fact that I myself have entered the fifth decade of my existence on the planet earth , this pampering really feels good . Makes you feel lazy and entitled , none of which is a good thing , I am told .
She will first cart me , from where ever I am stationed , to her home . Then she will loudly complain , that she hasn't cooked adequately , that I didn't give her ample time , that why did I turn vegetarian , for God's sake ?
Then she will ply me with anything and everything lying on the dining table . Exotic fruit juices , dry fruits , candies .
Then , leaving me munching she will disappear into the kitchen , from which appetising cooking smells emerge , by the by . A conversation will be conducted , with her back to me , and any attempts at helping is rebutted and I am unceremoniously shooed out .
When she emerges , a colossal platter of boiled rice accompanies her . You sit like some God (most likely Ganesha , of the mythically proportioned appetite) , and delicacies keep coming . Numerous curries in steel bowls start mysteriously surrounding your mountain of soft , white , fragrant "bhaat". Some are dry , some runny , some in-between (ga- maakha). Then a smaller plate appears to your right , which has a roof , comprising of a fried papad , and a fried egg ( a compensation for not -eating "maach , "maangsho" and other culinary delights in the bengali kingdom .).
You lift the roof and are surprised by the ring of walls , made by begun bhaja , jhuri bhaja, and million other bhajas .
Then my sister plonks herself next to me , on an empty chair , armed with sisterly advice , family gossip and a heartful of love .
You work your way through the mountain , via the bowls and the side plate , under the ever watchful eye.
Then , when there is no space left for a burp either , in your tummy , another plate appears , and it has sondeshes in their five myriad avatars and three different hues of rosogollas .
And yes , you dare not say no . Of course , it is all for you . What do you think ?
Whenever I visit her , she treats me like a kid sister, who needs to be fed , clothed , smothered , showered with gifts , etc . Notwithstanding the fact that I myself have entered the fifth decade of my existence on the planet earth , this pampering really feels good . Makes you feel lazy and entitled , none of which is a good thing , I am told .
She will first cart me , from where ever I am stationed , to her home . Then she will loudly complain , that she hasn't cooked adequately , that I didn't give her ample time , that why did I turn vegetarian , for God's sake ?
Then she will ply me with anything and everything lying on the dining table . Exotic fruit juices , dry fruits , candies .
Then , leaving me munching she will disappear into the kitchen , from which appetising cooking smells emerge , by the by . A conversation will be conducted , with her back to me , and any attempts at helping is rebutted and I am unceremoniously shooed out .
When she emerges , a colossal platter of boiled rice accompanies her . You sit like some God (most likely Ganesha , of the mythically proportioned appetite) , and delicacies keep coming . Numerous curries in steel bowls start mysteriously surrounding your mountain of soft , white , fragrant "bhaat". Some are dry , some runny , some in-between (ga- maakha). Then a smaller plate appears to your right , which has a roof , comprising of a fried papad , and a fried egg ( a compensation for not -eating "maach , "maangsho" and other culinary delights in the bengali kingdom .).
You lift the roof and are surprised by the ring of walls , made by begun bhaja , jhuri bhaja, and million other bhajas .
Then my sister plonks herself next to me , on an empty chair , armed with sisterly advice , family gossip and a heartful of love .
You work your way through the mountain , via the bowls and the side plate , under the ever watchful eye.
Then , when there is no space left for a burp either , in your tummy , another plate appears , and it has sondeshes in their five myriad avatars and three different hues of rosogollas .
And yes , you dare not say no . Of course , it is all for you . What do you think ?
The kumbhakaran in me is aroused. Want to place myself right in front of that plate and gobble the delicac ies
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