The Dad and the daughter were sitting at the table making sounds by hitting the plates and glasses with spoons and forks. It was music to their ears. Mom came into the dining room. She has two bowls in her hand. She put that down and went back into the kitchen. Dad and daughter started sniffing at the bowls imitating dogs. The aroma of onion sambar and smell of freshly ground coconut hung in the air. This made them all the more hungry and they started singing, “We want dosa. We want dosa,” at the top of their voices. The banging of plates and tumblers gave them the required background music.
The Mom smiled at the two and hurried back to the kitchen. She had two tawas on the gas stove and started to making dosas, two at a time. She put a little oil on the tawa, then poured a ladle of thick batter onto it and spread it evenly on the tawa’s surface. She put some more oil around the edges of the dosa, flipped it on the tawa and waited till it cooked. The dosa, after completion, would go directly on the plates of Dad or daughter. The Dad helped the daughter cut a piece of the crispy dosa, dip it into a cup of spicy onion sambar or sweet coconut chutney and put it in her mouth. The Mom was reminded of her childhood days when her Dad would so the same for her. When she could eat dosas to her heart content. These days things had changed a little.
While making dosas, the entire kitchen would be filled the smell of burning oil. Even with the exhaust fan switched on, the smoke remained for sometime. While making the first few dosas, the mother’s mouth would water, but with the Dad and daughter eagerly waiting to taste them, she would want to serve them first. By the time they had finished eating, with the smell of smoke around, the mother would lose her appetite and sometimes would have a feeling of nausea. She would not make any dosas for herself. Instead, she would eat a little curd rice. She would be alone at the table as the Dad and daughter, with their tummies full, would be lying on the divan in the hall and watching some cartoon programs.
That day, also the same thing happened. She was having her curd rice with pickle when the Dad came to the dining hall to drink some water. He sat beside her and asked, “The dosas are simply delicious. You are a great cook!” She smiled back at him and continued to eat. “Why did n’t you eat some?” asked Dad. “Of course, I ate,” she lied, as always, “I had two dosas and now I am having this curd rice so that I don’t feel very thirsty.” Dad gazed at her for sometime and then patted her back and went back to the TV room.
Two months later:
(To be continued soon.. I know, you people hate to see this line at the end of almost every post of mine. I promise to end this in the next two days :-D)