The burden of forgetfulness, which we often blame on genes, are , in all genuineness, an indicator of age .
In good humour, it is just TMI . Overloading your brain with too much information. Like cramming your shopping cart with numerous useless items, and forgetting a really important stuff .
The other day , I was unpacking my card board packages ,packed a few months ago. Having lived a transferrable life , packing and unpacking seem as normal as having your early morning tea in the balcony .
We are forever traveling, on the move, on the go . Though it may seem a headache to most people, and to even us , it becomes fun after some time. You stop crying buckets over broken crystal ware , fragile items or missing things .
Going back to that day , I came across a medium sized , transparent plastic box containing a white powder . For the life of me , I couldn't remember what it was.
It could be spare from a packet of salt I bought to keep in its designated container.
It could be white watercolor paint which had dried up in its tube and I like a good Asian/ Indian, decided to rip the tube , scrape the paint and store it elsewhere.
It could be the white rangoli powder borrowed from my generous neighbour, on a haphazard diwali evening.
It could be bleaching powder which my maid had been requesting to be sprinkled over the open drain that led away from the kitchen and attracted arthropods of five different species .
It could be white cement that was leftover after filling millions of nail holes that the previous occupant of this house had hammered on the walls , crucifying his / her artwork on the walls .
It could be white chalk powder.
It could be maida . Leftover after baking my last chocolate cake in a pressure cooker, whose bottom half got burnt and stuck . Thereafter eliciting promises of " never again" .
It could be rice powder. Left from the time I befriended a Tamilian and she pointed out the inarguable importance of this vital ingredient in one's kitchen. I said " achcha?"to myself and thoughtlessly blinkit- ed a packet , only to realise the futility of the purchase. Lending it once to a Bengali relative to make alponas .
It could be atta . From the last packet of Aashirvaad. Its position having been forgetfully usurped by a new 5 kg packet of Pillsbury.
It could be dry dosa batter . Instant. Ready to use. As advertised on WhatsApp. Replicated in a moment of inspiration and almost instantly forgotten. Because someone bought a packet of MTR mix for me.
It could be glucose powder. Enriched with vitamin d. Taken from a cracking vessel and stored here.
It could be baking soda, baking powder . From the time I gave up baking. Turning up like bad coin , to remind me that my kids are going to be home shortly, and that I need to start baking. Again.
Finally it was time to subject it to tests. Sniff test . No result. Finally taste test .
The white powder clung to a few of my granulated tissue on the tongue and set it in fire . I spat it out instantly and rinsed my mouth, several times .
Limestone powder!! Or chuna.
For the life of me I cannot remember when or why I bought it, or it was a simple case of " chuna lagana" ( cheating )
