A horror story
I had three packets of Maggi tucked away on a shelf to be consumed in times of need. A hectic day at the office or a fight with parents, you get the point. Today was a hectic day. After 15 hours of back-to-back calls, I go to my cupboard hoping to have a delicious bowl of Maggi. It’s been a while since I have Maggi. I put the noodle cake in the pan and looked for the tastemaker. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I must’ve been mistaken. I tear the entire packet looking for it. Nothing again. I look inside the cupboard. Empty. I have a water-soaked cake and NO tastemaker. My flatmate who was making Ramen, urgh, happened to mention that the other flatmates used my Maggi masala packets, not one, not two, not three, on his idlis he made in the morning. You cannot comprehend my state of shock followed by agony. You do not do that to someone’s Maggi. It’s an honor code. The relationship between a Shiro and her Maggi is a special one. You don’t just trespass and that too for idli! I stood there thinking