Growing Up Desi
Smuggling Maggi
Raat ke 11 baje. Snow bahar. Apartment quiet. Aur kitchen mein woh smell.
Raat ke 11 baje.
Snow bahar.
Apartment quiet.
Aur kitchen mein woh smell.
Tab samajh aaya tha.
Bhook sirf noodles ki nahi thi.
Pehli America trip ke baad yeh clear ho gaya tha.
Ramen try ki thi.
Sab bolte the same hi hai.
Bilkul same nahi thi.
Noodles alag.
Smell alag.
"Raat ke 11 baje. Snow bahar. Apartment quiet. Aur kitchen mein woh smell."
Masala mein woh baat hi nahi thi.
Maggi ka masala alag hota hai.
Uska koi substitute nahi hota.
Agli trip pe packets suitcase mein aaye.
Kapdon ke beech.
Carefully.
Thoda darr bhi lagta tha.
Allowed hai bhi ya nahi.
Pata nahi.
Par risk worth lagta tha.
Demand itni hoti thi ki packets count hote the.
"Kitni laaye?"
"Kisiko deni hai kya?"
Koi casually nahi banata tha.
Emergency food thi.
Homesick food thi.
Instructions yaad nahi karni padti thi.
Haath already jaante the.
Paani kitna.
Kab masala daalna.
Kab gas band karni.
Bowl haath mein aata.
Steam upar.
Room thoda kam foreign lagta.
Aaj har Indian store mein mil jaati hai.
Dozens of flavors.
Easy.
Tab 4 packets bhi treasure lagte the.
Bhook sirf noodles ki nahi hoti thi.
Woh wali familiarity ki hoti thi.
