Memories

I remember waking up to the sounds of the whistle of the pressure cooker in our small and modest one room cum kitchen every morning. I must have been around 4 years old then, and unlike most kids my age I wouldn't ever complain about being whisked away for a bath, coz I would eagerly await the routine that followed next. Watching my mom getting lunch ready was a visual treat every morning. Sometimes, mom would get annoyed with me for getting in her way (it was a small place after all) but more often than not, I would be allowed to stick my fingers in the dough and play with it till mom was ready to roll out perfectly rounded yummy chapatis. Mom would then pack dad's lunch box with chapati and the subji of the day and then drop me off at the babysitter's.

One day, it got into me to make a chapati for my dear pappa, to earn a proud look from him. As mom wouldn't let me anywhere near the stove, I waited patiently for her to place the hot tawa under the cooking platform. As soon as she got busy, I pressed the tiny bit of dough that I had stolen, on the tawa making sure that it was brown on both the sides. Voila! I had a mini chapati prepared by me. I ran to mom and showed her my creation. It didn't earn the appreciation that I had expected. : ( Not knowing what to do next, I slipped the tiny chapati into my dad's tiffin box and told her to tell dad that I had made it for him.

All day long, through school day and later, I waited for my dad to come home, sweep me in his arms and tell me how he loved eating the chapati that I had made for him. Finally, it was time for him to come home, time for my sterling moment. Alas...no such thing happened...he hadn't noticed the tiny chapati I had made for him. It was as if it had never existed, it remained in my memories...the immortal chapati....