As I sit here on my creamy white sofa in my living room on a lazy Sunday, I can smell some breakfast being made. It's early- only nine in the morning, for a Sunday meal. The aroma of a simple Maggi being cooked, transports me back to my childhood where Sunday was family time with Mom & Papa.
We lived in a huge house in Lucknow (my Mumbai flat seems only two rooms compared to that sprawling structure)- filled with laughter and love of my parents, my Grandmom, my sis and me.
Sundays would be special- we would wait all week for them because Papa would make his version of Maggi for us- finely chopped onions, tomatoes and a hint of green chillies were fried in one pan while water for maggi simmered on the other (those were the days of 2- burner stoves only)- sometimes Papa would mash in some scrambled eggs also to make it healthy-and oh! what delectable Maggi it was! What added on to the simple dish was the oodles of fun, rib tickling jokes and the love that was spread out in generous toppings by Papa.
Recently I tried making some myself- and as I sat forlonly, forking up the exotic- veggie- laden Maggi, alone, at my dining table, I couldn't help but stifle a sob.
The years have gone by: Grandma is no more, my parents have moved to another city, my sister is all grown up.
But what remains my choicest dish even today when I visit them, is Papa's special Maggi. No matter what I do, or don't do, I can never match the magic of his hands!
(this may seem like an ode to Maggi, but well, so be it!)
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