“There is something wrong with this chicken curry,” declared my brother-in-law.
I glanced up from my plate with some difficulty. My ears, you see, were burning. And I am pretty sure there was smoke emerging from my nose.
“Huh?”
“I said there’s something wrong. It doesn’t taste quite right.”
R and I were at his parents’, and my brother-in-law, who is utterly fond of cooking, had prepared a delicious chicken curry for us. He had paired it with fluffy rice. The curry tasted amazing, and I, tired out after the long drive from the airport, ate large mouthfuls before the problem became apparent. At R’s place, they always serve us food on the same plate: a gesture thought to promote love. I gave R a sideways glance; he was gulping down glass after glass of chilled water.
“I have got it!” my brother-in-law clapped his hands in a Eureka moment.
“What is it?” I asked weakly. Continue reading
Of Paneer, Pulao and Pune 