I looked sadly at the aaloo-baingan sitting on my plate. The chapati placed neatly besides it. With a small piece of mango pickle in a guest appearance.
“Kha na. Thanda ho raha hai,” my mom said as she brought another chapati.
“Aapne toh kaha tha meri pasand ki sabzi banaayi hai,” I scowled.
“Haan toh yeh hai na kitni acchi sabzi,” she said putting the chapati on my plate. “Kha ke dekh kitni tasty hai.”
“I hate aloo-baingan,” I protested.
“Kha le. Jab bahar jaayega na, tab yahi aaloo-baingan yaad aayega,” she said ominously.
“Oh realllyyyy! Like that’d ever happen,” I scoffed while taking an unwilling bite.
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This conversation had happened 8 years ago. But it was playing again in my head as I opened my box of kadahi chicken I’d ordered from the usual haunt near my place.
I stared blankly into the box. Two pieces of chicken floating in at least a liter of oil greeted me.
I unwrapped the chapatis from the aluminium foil. They looked more chewy than a packet of gum.
I sighed. And believe it or not, I genuinely wished I could eat ghar ka aaloo-baingan and roti instead of this oilfest.
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You know, while leaving my hometown, I’d pledged that I’d try every restaurant Delhi had to offer.
And being a man of my words, try them I did. The very idea of eating home cooked food felt like a sin to me and the fact that I could now eat any dish I want, and that too 24×7, was kinda liberating.
Well, at least for the first 2 years that is.
Okay, for the first 3 years.
Since I believe in fair play, I gave every restaurant in Delhi a fair chance to woo me.
Every single day. For the next 1,095 days.
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And then, the food fatigue started setting in. Slowly but very steadily, I began growing tired of the restaurants’ homogenized food. No matter where I ordered it from, the paneer and the chicken tasted the same.
The rotis and the naans were chewy as ever. And skimming half a liter of oil everyday from any dish I ordered was becoming way too taxing.
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I realized that I was super tired of restaurant food when one day, I craved for ghar ki khichdi.
Yes! Of all the things, the humble khichdi. The one dish I hated as much as I loved the show of the same name. The one dish, that used to make matters worse for us every time we used to fall sick.
And yet, one day, here I was, sitting in my room wanting nothing more than some pipping hot khichdi, with dollops of ghee in it.
Because trust me, there’s nothing that ghee on khichdi can’t set right.
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You know how everybody has a comfort food? Mine happens to be ghar ka khanaa now. And even in ghar ka khaana, I crave for no fancy stuff.
Just simple dal-chawal with a glass of chaanch is more than enough to set things right for me.
“Kya khaayega?” my mom asks me everytime I go home now.
“Kuch bhi bana do,” I say.
I guess that’s what staying away from home for 8 years does to you.
It makes you realize that ghar ka ‘kuch bhi’ is way, way better than the fanciest dish any restaurant has to offer.
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As cliched as it may sound, I think the one thing all fancy restaurants miss is the love that goes into home cooked food. The selfless motive our parents have to keep us well fed.
Yes, I still do relish an occasional burger or a pizza, but given a choice, it’s ghar ka dal-chawal over a fancy restaurant any day.