POETRY | CHILDHOOD MEMORIES | LIFE LESSONS
Noodles for Lunch
Our living conditions weren’t as favorable in my childhood as they are now. A one-bedroom house was our haven. Inexpensive parrot-green distemper always defined the cracked walls. One person could barely stand in the tiny kitchen, which had this unpleasant cushion of dark green moss covering the corners. Our crowded room had many things. I could hardly see how the floor looked there. However, our narrow hall had some space… Hence, I could see the gaping muddy holes right in the middle. Whenever I had to scrub the floor, I would deliberately pour in extra water and smell fresh petrichor — This was my moment of bliss.
My parents seemed content despite the struggles. Oftentimes, packing a delicious lunch for us was an uphill task for my mother. Yet, she made it a simple affair. So simple that it was white rice and curry. Only the curry would be a different one each day. She didn’t want to waste her husband’s hard-earned money; so thoughtful of her — this left a lasting impression on my delicate mind. Nobody complained, but I silently despised the soggy white rice jostling for space in the curdled curry every afternoon. My siblings and my father saw the same messy picture but ignored it and ate the food. I was not thankless; I only wanted a different dish daily. Since my mother…
