Woe is to youth and the many mistakes one makes that can never be redeemed, fateful moments that can never be reclaimed, childish errors in judgement that cause a liftime and more of endless retribution.
There was a time, I remember only vaguely, I remember not how, when the heart was young and the mind knew not the difference between right and wrong, good and bad, that I made the fatal mistake of complimenting my Mumani’s chinese cooking, a dish that doesnt really have a name in particular, and for the lack of anything better are called Naudles. I was barely 15, still a child, and very hungry. I complimented, she beamed at me and I waved the spoon in joy.
Ever since, it has become an annual, semi annual, monthly, bi weekly ritual, depending on how much distance seperates me from this atrocious dish. “To phir raza naudles khanay kab aa raha hai?”. “Is dafa to raza nai naudles khaye hi nahi”. Let me tell you why they’re called naudles, because no earthly name can describe it. I suspect that she has a different recipe each time, and each time it manages to make me depressed in a different way. Sometimes it feels like you are fishing used rubber bands out of tomato soup. Sometimes its black stringy spaghetti with mucous like substances floating in tomato soup. Mucous.. there is often mucous of some sort, I do not consider it far from her to put rats in it.
Their faces beam with such pride at me as I force that smelly concoction down my throat that each time I go there, I dont have the heart to tell them how I shatter into tiny pieces inside with each gulp. I cannot tell them that I would rather jump into a volcano than take one more bite, that visions of eternal bliss and longing for that final abode where peace is for everyone and not just those without naudles grips me and I fascinate about some catastrophic but much needed end to this madness.
But there is no end to the pain.. no.. for then they then ladle the second helping..
Ahh, i wouldnt dare suggest those Naudles are horrendous, however,, try hinting u'd liek o try sumthin else (possibly sumthing shes good at) as a change..
i have tried.. i have tried volunteering to cook them myself this time. their stupid children love the stuff (the children will be the subject of a future thread)
chanda thats why I only compliment stuff that aunty jis know how to cook. one aunt makes kick ass pulao and leg roast, another one is an expert at khoobani ka meetha, someone makes killer pasinda, someone makes amazing shaami kebabs. Lesson learned is dont compliment stuff that u will rgret later.
now how to get u out of this mess..start telling her you have some stomach problems. well only two ways to get out of this, either tell her that your tastes have changed and request her to make something for you that you know she can cook or… lie..lie like ther eis no tomorrow…
Tell her u have been having some problems after eating pasta and your doctor has told you that you have allergies to pasta..thank her for her treating you and insist that from now on she not make this for you since u can not eat it.
Ravage, here you go.
Coeliac disease (also known as the ‘allergic to pasta’ disease. Can also be written as Celiac) is an intestinal disorder that results from an allergy to gluten.
Gluten is a protein found in wheat, rye, barley and a very small amount in oats.
This allergy causes gluten to be poorly digested which then irritates the lining of the small intestinal and prevents the body from breaking down and absorbing food nutrients properly.
The constant gut lining irritation causes damage to the mucous membrane and intestine lining over time.
Stop starting your threads with "Of such and such and so and so". This the writing style of arrogant Pakistani writers who write for Dawn, The News and other newspapers. They think they are so much better than anyone else, they can write anything any way they want.
You know Mr. TinDabba, everytime I see your nick I recall a thread you opened in Life1 in your early days about a personal health problem. Did you ever get over that one?
Good Luck!
or… lie..lie like ther eis no tomorrow…
