WHY SHOULD PICKY EATERS HAVE ALL THE FUN?

"Ma, did you just make tomato rice again? That's twice in a week." I twisted my face in disappointment. 

"Ha, yes. What's wrong with tomato rice? You love it every time I make it. Why are you sulking now?" Ma was right. Not just tomato rice; I never said no to anything she made for me. I can eat anything and everything made of things that grow from the ground, that which walks, one that flies and swims. I never segregated my food choices like my sister.

"It's your favourite peerkangai aviyal (ridge gourd stew). I made it just the way you like." The next day at lunch, Ma was beaming as she displayed her culinary skills at the table. It was white rice, ridge gourd stew, pepper rasam and curd for lunch. As someone who loved it usually, I should have been ecstatic because I was getting to eat them after a long time. But it was also the very fact that made me sad. After my sister departed from our home, everything has been of this sort at home. It's been only greens, yellows and whites on the table unlike how Ma would have made different types of foods for different people when Didi was around. That hurt me a little, even though it shouldn't have.

Two days later, it was Sunday, and I patiently waited for what was to come. I wanted to settle the debate that day if something were to upset me. It was lunchtime, and I helped Ma cut vegetables and clean the kitchen. But I hadn't seen any evidence of meat or seafood till then. On Sundays, chicken biriyani with cucumber raita, brinjal curry, and tomato jam was a mandatory menu at home. Ma would make us ghee rice with chicken gravy and daalcha whenever a change was needed. But that day, no traces of any of these were found. Even when she made such food before, additional items would be prepared exclusively for my sister because she is a picky eater and would not eat this and that. The problem with the exclusiveness is that she didn't want our food, but all of us needed hers. We would only watch her plate drooling at the impossibility of having it. Occasionally, I would steal some from her plate when Ma wasn't looking, and my sister was too dumb to notice. But why should I bear the brunt of her being a picky eater? I'm not one, and I can have everything without complaining.

"Ma, why don't you ever make something that I like? Especially after Didi is gone?" I asked her straight away, not looking in her direction.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Yes, since Didi left, it's all been bland food at home. I don't get any special treatment like her. Did you really pick me up from a garbage or an orphanage?" That's how my sister used to taunt me when we were young. Whenever a situation came up close to her losing it, she would bring this up. She would tell me that I was picked up from a garbage and that my parents wanted to keep me. I would give up and start crying, and she would emerge victorious in the end. As I grew up, I realised they were lies every sister tells their sibling. But at times like these, it really makes me wonder. Ma was shocked and gasped at my question.

"I don't really understand what you are talking about. I thought what I am making today is your favourite." 

"Maybe. It's not a favourite. But I do eat it. It's not like I love it anyway. But whenever Didi was home, you would prepare a lavish meal, and I have not seen it happen in the past few days."

"Arey, my little child. So that's the problem now?" She dropped her utensils and came forward. She held my cheeks, and I began to wonder how she could take my accusation so lightly.

"See, if you are wondering why I didn't make any fancy meal for lunch today, it is because we were going to celebrate your birthday next week with a feast." How could I not remember my birthday, which was to come in a couple of days. I dropped my head down in shame.

"And if you ever think that I am making your sister extra special food because I love her more, then you are an idiot." She nudged me gently on my head. "She has always been demanding, and I have had to spend more energy on her to keep her nourished. But in no way did I ever differentiate you both. In a way, I see you as the trouble-free one who is easy to please and less demanding. It's a delight cooking for you because you never complain. But it doesn't mean that I love you any less. Sometimes, I feel I love you a little more for that." She patted my shoulders and I walked out of the kitchen happier than before.

Whatever Ma said made sense, but I never realised she thought Didi was the tougher kid. If it were true, Ma had been a good actor all along, never showing it outside. I was silently rejoicing because did it mean I got to be her favourite child? I don't know. But whatever she said made me feel at ease. I relished that day's lunch with a happy heart, more love for my mother, and little pity for my Didi. I was plotting to taunt her with the new information I had the next time she visited. After all, why should picky eaters have all the fun?

This is a part of #BlogchatterFoodfest 2024

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