Comedy of errors
Aunty J was our upstairs neighbour in the apartment building I lived in during high school. She was about a decade younger than my mother and would often come to her for advice and consolation, speaking in her broken Bengali. "Mrs. D was so rude to me. She said that I was tipke (stingy) and didn't feed my kids well, that's why they are so skinny." "The word is kipte amma, not tipke", her son, with his superior Bengali knowledge, would interject. "Be quiet, aunty knows what I mean!"
Aunty J was the sweetest neighbour I ever had. Once I fell fast asleep after school and my mother, who had been shopping, came back and knocked and knocked and couldn't wake me up. A neighbourhood kid had to climb up to our balcony to make sure I was okay. Aunty J was in tears, she was so worried. The time I got into trouble with other neighbours by attempting humorous writing at the expense of the goddess Saraswati, it was aunty J who stood up for me staunchly.
One morning, aunty J turned up at our door quite early. "I came here to take a break," she said, "a storm blew through my house this morning." "Why what happened?" my mother asked. "My mother-in-law cooked breakfast today. The children said it tasted bad and refused to eat it." Her mother-in-law had been mortified. Aunty J's husband had yelled at her, "Where were you? Why was my old mother cooking early in the morning just to be insulted?" The children whined that they were hungry and were sternly scolded by their dad, "You eat what your grandmother cooked or no breakfast for you." Then the dutiful son got a bowl of the upma for himself and sat down at the table to set an example to his spoilt children. He put a heaping spoonful in his mouth and immediately spit it out, "Whatever did you put in this amma, it tastes horrible!" This was too much for his poor mother who burst into tears, "Buy a train ticket for me right now. I want to go back to my village tonight, I'm not going to stay here another day!" she sobbed. Aunty J tried to console her, "Mother, why don't you eat some breakfast first, then we'll look at train tickets." "Fine, since my cooking is not good enough for you all, I'm going to eat it all myself. Oh my goodness, this is terrible! No wonder the children didn't want to eat it!"
Just then there was a knock on the door. It was their maid Nondo with a bright smile on her face, "Boudi, did you find the neem leaves I left for you yesterday?"
Neem leaves, medicinal, full of all kinds of goodness, but extremely bitter are very similar in appearance to curry leaves, a common flavoring ingredient in South Indian food.
Aunty J was the sweetest neighbour I ever had. Once I fell fast asleep after school and my mother, who had been shopping, came back and knocked and knocked and couldn't wake me up. A neighbourhood kid had to climb up to our balcony to make sure I was okay. Aunty J was in tears, she was so worried. The time I got into trouble with other neighbours by attempting humorous writing at the expense of the goddess Saraswati, it was aunty J who stood up for me staunchly.
One morning, aunty J turned up at our door quite early. "I came here to take a break," she said, "a storm blew through my house this morning." "Why what happened?" my mother asked. "My mother-in-law cooked breakfast today. The children said it tasted bad and refused to eat it." Her mother-in-law had been mortified. Aunty J's husband had yelled at her, "Where were you? Why was my old mother cooking early in the morning just to be insulted?" The children whined that they were hungry and were sternly scolded by their dad, "You eat what your grandmother cooked or no breakfast for you." Then the dutiful son got a bowl of the upma for himself and sat down at the table to set an example to his spoilt children. He put a heaping spoonful in his mouth and immediately spit it out, "Whatever did you put in this amma, it tastes horrible!" This was too much for his poor mother who burst into tears, "Buy a train ticket for me right now. I want to go back to my village tonight, I'm not going to stay here another day!" she sobbed. Aunty J tried to console her, "Mother, why don't you eat some breakfast first, then we'll look at train tickets." "Fine, since my cooking is not good enough for you all, I'm going to eat it all myself. Oh my goodness, this is terrible! No wonder the children didn't want to eat it!"
Just then there was a knock on the door. It was their maid Nondo with a bright smile on her face, "Boudi, did you find the neem leaves I left for you yesterday?"
Neem leaves, medicinal, full of all kinds of goodness, but extremely bitter are very similar in appearance to curry leaves, a common flavoring ingredient in South Indian food.
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