The Hunger Games

I never knew my friend’s unexpected visit to my house would stir up a hornet’s nest. “I’m just around the corner, are you guys home?” When my friend called us, my husband and I were in the midst of preparing the evening tiffin. "Aha, more mouths to feed.." My husband rubbed his hands in glee as he loved making dosas. The moment my friend sat at our table a short while later, I placed a plate of crips dosas and piping hot chutney in front of him. After he polished off two dosas in quick precision he paused and looked at my husband with a gleam in his eye. It made me uneasy for some reason. "Imagine running a restaurant that served food made fresh out of the produce from my garden!" he whispered. "Juicy, ripe tomatoes, tender beans and all those herbs...", he added. My husband turned to me with stars in his eyes. Sigh. Now it was time for me to play the bad guy. What on earth was I going to do with two men bent on pursuing a hare-brained scheme? From teens to octogenarians, the men in my family often came up with ideas that set off alarm bells. “It’s a call - an awakening of the entrepreneurial spirit in us” they reasoned with the skeptics. Being die-hard foodies, they cherished hopes of opening a restaurant at some point in their lives. Once my father-in-law was fixated on the idea of an idli-dosa eatery. “I can always rope in Mani” he claimed. Mani was his friend’s son, and more importantly a staunch follower of his ideas. My mother-in-law quietly nodded her head and let things run their course. In a few days, father-in-law was travelling overseas on work and the idli-dosa dream remained just that. My uncle who lived in north India looked down his nose at the rice-sambhar-curry served at home. “I want roti-dhaal-sabji", he demanded. While drawing up a business plan, he urged his wife to fine-tune her culinary skills on different varieties of dhaal. She simply tuned him out. A young cousin who had lived overseas for many years looked askance at desi food. “Should I go with pad-thai noodles or falafel?” he wondered aloud describing the menu in his dream restaurant. “All these highfalutin ideas and he ends up spending hours in the bathroom after meals!” his mother muttered as she sauteed sun-dried berries that would help ease his digestion. The poor fella eventually left the country rather than listen to his mom’s advice on how to improve his bowel functions. As I sensed the excitement between my spouse and friend, I knew I had to act quickly. “I have two children, college loans, medical expenses..” I began. My husband gave me a “are-you-for-real” look. Undeterred I turned to the friend but he too was on a roll. “I already have a nest-egg set aside for my son’s college and my retirement. I’m way ahead of you guys!”he smirked. I was now desperate. “Remember what happened to Raja uncle?” When someone in the family ventured into a risky business deal, Raja uncle’s name was evoked. He was a distant relative who had squandered all his money by making foolish decisions and ended up destitute. Knowing that I had my husband’s attention I went in for the kill. “Perhaps we shouldn’t eat out at all now that you’re thinking of getting into this restaurant business..” As the bickering continued around the table I was reminded of the comedian George Carlin’s words, “The other night I ate at a real nice family restaurant. Every table had an argument going.” Read the rest of the article here