Breakfast is an arduous job for me as my family is very selective to try a range of varieties (Not Miss Picky Pie but mainly Mr.Pie). The food has to be not greasy and oily. It has to be something simple but exotic and tasty. A food served for breakfast should brighten up the sleepy morning glumness and charge up the spirit. If the girls (read Miss Picky Pie, thankfully Miss Muddly Pie is too little to join the group now) demand something, the man will request for something else. The weekday Breakfast menus are fixed and I don’t have to go under a brainstorming session of what to serve the three musketeers.
I guess if Miss Muddly Pie could speak in proper language, she would yell back to her elder sister Miss Picky Pie this. Miss Picky Pie nowadays can lift her sister up in her lap, so her joy knew no bound. But most of the time she will come from the back and lift Miss Muddly Pie while sitting on the floor. And Miss Muddly Pie will start giggling and remain in the same posture the way she is sitting on the floor. So it will look like that Miss Picky Pie is carrying a baby kitten in an attire of a human being. What I do, I first scream at the sight in fear that Miss Picky Pie will drop her baby sister. But then I will be seen rushing to grab the phone or the camera to capture the moment. An elated emotion streams down through me. I touch the wood and pray to god to shower happiness all the time to the kids. Miss Muddly Pie is becoming more responsive and interactive day by day and Miss Picky Pie is turning to a dotting and possessive elder ‘DIDI’ as days passing by.
If we have a fight ever or arguments, that has to be always over food. Miss Picky Pie, the pickiest eater of the world (I am not exaggerating) sometimes makes my life hell where she leaves me shattered, tattered (again not exaggerating) without any choices or on a bed of junk food to offer. I spend sleep nights, pinning hundreds of recipes on Pinterest when her school is open. Preparing her lunchbox is literally a nightmare to me. Mainly because she leaves for her school at 7.00 am and I have to prepare her lunch box ready by 6.30am. She will not have bread, no Parathas, no noodles, no eggs, no vegetables. She will have only Pasta or Something made out of Potato. So either I make pasta or potato wedges or chilli potato with a side of stir fried sweet corns that she really loves. But again if her friends refuse to share her tiffin because every day they are having the same dish and now want something new, Miss Picky Pie on same note comes back home and demands something new. Friends are the God to her. A word showered from their mouth that means those have to be written with a golden ink and propelled at any cost. And me, the mommy with a nettled heart, thrust my face again in the recipe collections.
Everyone has a specific hour in his/her life, strained out from the daily mundane chores that one apprehensively yearns and waits for. That few minutes we consider as the quality time of our life. That can be spent doing nothing, relaxing or just letting your thought process go crazy to engage in some gratifying affair. I like love relish such moments. I have many such moments. The particular time of a day that lures me more is when I go to pick up Miss Picky Pie from her school. I get 30 minutes to reach her school. If I am not digging deep in the utopian world of a book or tickling my very expensive android with care, I prefer to weave series of stories. The stories of different phases of life that I experience every day around me. The feeling of turning instantly into a writer is nothing but cosmic. This sublime sensation travels me back some far-away land – a world of exquisite imagination. I ignore the clumsy cacophonic city life, the bumpy roads, the potholes and the polluted smoke hovering around. The claustrophobic jam-packed traffic can’t harm my sedative solemn reverie. This is the time when I feel free to float with my chain of thoughts. Sometimes I drift in the realm of nothingness, just staring blank through the window ignoring what I am passing by. The term ‘Nothingness’ has a kind of romance and mystery hidden behind. The satisfaction comes out of staring blank is beyond explanation and the mind jumps in joy as it goes for a power nap.