The Original Gangsters

Or, the story of the lunchbox my mom packed for me every day for 12 years

‘Paratha?! Not again!’ I would think to myself quietly, hoping no one hears even the whispers of this blasphemous thought I’d just had. My mother was good at a lot of things - gardening, hosting get-togethers, negotiating. She could get the best deal out of the sabziwala or the landlord or the school principal. The charm she measured in each situation was personalized to the type of receiver and situation. She sings beautifully. She was the queen of Sudoku. There are so many things she is good at. Don’t be confused by the shift in tense there. It’s not a typo, using is vs was.

That’s how I experience her - sometimes she is, sometimes she was.

Anyway, of course this huge disclaimer of all the things she is good at is to say that she wasn’t that great at one thing, and she won’t mind me saying this now. She wouldn’t have minded even back then. She would have simply pulled her face into a mock-protest exclamation, and let out an animated sound of disbelief at this betrayal by her own daughter.

‘Apni khud ki maa ke haath ke khane ke baare me aisa bol rahi hai!’, she would say. I would watch her perform, amused and captivated.

I am not saying she was not good at it because of a lack of skill, although that is one hypothesis I can’t refute fully. She never liked being in the kitchen. She hated early mornings too. She hates waking up at 6 AM, so did I. Her small eyes even smaller in the mornings, I wonder how she even saw through them, maybe she was still half-asleep. Of course she didn’t have time to think up creative dishes to pack for lunch. I face the same now, when the cook tells me with a disapproving tone in her voice,

‘Par didi aapne kal bhi toh poha khaya tha? Aaj kuch aur banaun?’

I worry then that the cook’s job satisfaction is partly my responsibility too, that she must need variety or she will get bored of cooking the same thing over and over again. Or might she just be looking out for me instead? If so, isn’t that nice?

Back to the earlier story, when I was 13. At finding paratha yet again in my lunchbox when the 11 AM school bell rang, I would eat as much of it as I could in spite of the blow to my appetite. Sometimes I would cheat. I would scan my friends’ lunchboxes and take mouthfuls of various cuisines - idlis, cheelas, sandwiches. If they were also stuck with parathas, I would check if someone was going to the canteen, and wait like a fox for them to come out with their loot. I am sure they weren’t too pleased when I gobbled up bites from the treats they bought for themselves after having to ask for money from their parents, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

But now…who would go home and dare to show an unfinished lunch to a woman who hates waking up in the mornings to spend time in the kitchen? Not me. No chance. I was already filled with guilt and shame, and on top of it you ask me to walk off the cliff willingly? 

No, I had a plan. A plan that was too good.

I executed the plan for a week, and it seemed to be working quite well. I did it on the way back home from the bus stop. That eventful day, as my brother and I walked back home, pleased and confident with my early wins I set it in motion again.

‘They are coming.’, he alerted me.

‘Wait, where? Ah yes, I see them.’

‘Walk faster. As soon as you give the parathas to them, we have to be quick. They almost got us last time.’

‘Hmm, you’re right. I will save one big last piece to throw at the very end, once they finish the rest. And then we will run.’

They were here now. I tore the one paratha into pieces and scattered those on the ground. 

The two dogs started sniffing the pieces diligently, as if they didn’t really know what they were even after having eaten the same thing for a week. They finally got to eating after this thorough inspection. 

These dogs had serious trust issues. Living on the streets must be rough.

We quickened our pace. Last time, I had enough for two dogs. But you see, these two dogs apparently had more friends than I did. They invited the rest of their gang for this free bountiful feast without informing me, and well, I didn’t have enough food for all of them. Naturally, they got angry. They started growling at us, which was fine, but then they started following us, and it wasn’t fine anymore. For them, I was the person who promised them the moon and the stars, but I turned out like yet another hollow lover who never lives up to your expectations. I had broken their trust, and now I had double-guilt. Mom aside, I was letting down even the dogs!

The plan was good, until it was too good to be true.

As we started running, we saw the gang in the distance. They understood we still hadn’t learnt from our past mistakes, and decided to avenge this intentional disrespect. 

Don’t be fooled by these cuties.

‘We are not doing this again! Next time sun lena mummy se!’, my brother screamed at me, as we continued to run for our lives.

The next day, I ate my paratha, fully. Coating one bite with jam that my mom had put in my lunchbox, coating the next one with achaar from my friend’s. 

After getting down from the bus stop, my brother and I took another route home. We didn’t care that it was much longer.

PS Thanks to

Natasha Badhwar

and

raju tai

for prompts like this one that make me remember long-forgotten memories on a long walk. Memories I thought I had lost forever, but they were just waiting to be found.