Social Interaction and Maggi

Meeting anyone is supposed to be an uncomfortable experience. It is supposed to push you out of your comfort zone, so that your thought process can be broadened. It may be cumbersome, tiring and appear worthless. The joy of using vocal cords, and looking at someone in the eye when conversing is a unique experience. Personalities translate better in person. Comfort is created, not omnipresent.

Happy Reading!

---

Oh how the pandemic has ruined our social skills! Lockdown has ripped me off my conversational abilities! I'm sorry, how do you greet people by talking?

To celebrate Diwali, my beloved and a bit bold family decided to take a leap of faith in our fate as we locked the door, leaving my laptop and headphones beyond the wooden cuboid, to meet my relatives.

A door opened, one with the same brown wood but a different golden name plate. Relatives smiled, I fumbled while removing my blunt heel shoes while smiling back at them. Walked in, did my namaste. Washed my hands, took off my mask. Walked on grey marble floors as everyone got seated on the sofa and spare chairs. Nothing else registered as perfectly as the grey marble flooring with texture patterns of white and the smooth sensation under my feet as if they could slide on it like skiing on snow. So clean, they could have probably cleaned it right before we came in. My eyes lingered on the ground, as I sat on a small red chair with bars for back support, only to look up occasionally so as to not appear like an isolated lost child.

Two girls appeared from a corridor, possibly coming from their bedrooms as one of them has worn matching yellow night suit with a pizza pattern and the other has worn a plain grey tee-shirt and pyjamas. I was dressed in festive clothing, glossy leaf green kurti over sea blue lehenga. Immediately, I felt overdressed and embarrassed but found reassurance in the fact that guests are supposed to wear decent clothing, especially during the festive season. I looked up at the wall covered with modern art paintings.

My two sisters sat far from me, unaware how to behave. After all, we had met after 8 years. In those years, we had neither talked to each other or even bothered to ask. All I had were my memories of the younger sister crying, the older one scolding her while trying to play monopoly with me, who felt like a spoilt middle child with them both. This was the time when my younger brother was so small, my mother had to carry him along with a big bag of baby goods whenever we left home.

Today, my brother stood near the entrance, refusing to come closer to people. Talking was not an option today. After persuasion from my parents and one stern look from one of them, my brother sat down on the sofa between the two scary demons who dared to birth him.

Relatives asked, "Maggi khayega?"

No no, brother responded. Politeness.

Relatives persuaded. Love is food, food is love. Ghar aaye aur kuch khaoge nahi?

Parents gave in, brother's eyes lit up.

Sisters went in the kitchen to make maggi. Younger sister asked, "How does he like his noodles? Spicy? Soupy?"

"He loves maggi without any adulteration haha, he loves it bland", I responded, glad to take a break from analyzing red strokes on a white canvas hung on the wall. "Actually, I will help you out", I said as I ran into the kitchen lifting my lehenga up.

Two slim platforms facing each other. A small wash area in the balcony. Just the three of us. My dress stood out way more than I had previously thought. Younger asked, "how much do I make?", the older one replied, "make enough for two". I stood in the back, unaware if they are aware about my presence. Unwelcome for a minute. I said, "hey I don't want any, do not count me in."

They continued cooking, and said, what if someone decides to eat?

Won't be me, I replied.

How soupy does he like his Maggi?

"Not too much. Let me help out, I will pour in the water", I said as I took a glass and filled it to the brim. I poured three quarters of the glass, when the younger one said, "Isn't this too less?" Maybe. I poured the entirety of the glass.

Older took out the packet. It was already open, from which two bricks of maggi and the tastemaker were taken out. As she continued to prepare our beloved noodles as it were second nature to her, I asked how did she prepare her instant noodles. "Do you pour the tastemaker first or the noodle brick? I wondered if there will be a chicken or an egg debate. She put the noodle brick on a plate and poured the tastemaker on it. A ghastly look appeared on my face. A scientist had appeared among us and she was making this kitchen her illegal experimentation lab.

I couldn't keep it in me. "This is genius yet a monstrous act that you have thus committed."

Older laughed, said you learn these tricks in hostels. Otherwise how do you plan to make maggi using a microwave?

The chaotic scientist had a good nature at heart. She may have committed a taboo, but she did it for the greater good.

She went on to tell me about the maggi experiments they have done as she made the bland normal maggi for my brother, while recommending her favorites to me. Very spicy, and with cheese. I replied, "I love that combination, it is my favourite."

I remembered how I thought discussing pleasure food was silly and inconsequential. I noticed how she asked me about my love for spice and how I told her the weird maggi experiments my friends and I have done. Chilli, chilli sauce, American chop suey maggi. "Hey, isn't the water in the maggi too much?" I asked her, referring to my nervous self in a reflective tone as if I had grown a decade in the past ten minutes. She nodded and continued stirring.

The conversation went on about college experience, studies and work experience, future exams and competition. Maggi was served, younger sat afar. Older sat closer this time around, conversation carried on. My gaze left the floor and the canvas, it set on her instead. The time came when I was at the entrance again, leaving the house.

Numbers were exchanged. The door was shut, and soon after, another one, a familiar one, was unlocked.

---