Biriyani, you, and the two of us at the dining table, every day becomes a cheat day. The whiff of garam masala being roasted in ghee triggers our senses and makes us hopeful for the meal ahead. The faint noise of breaking the dum, the chopping of coriander, and the pappadam splashing in hot oil indicate the shortening of waiting time. The noise of the door being slammed indicating the loud exit of the cook subconsciously pulls me out of my reading marathon into hovering around your room to close in on dinner time. With a little push and occasional opening of the kitchen door allowing the fragrance to dance into your senses, leaves no room in your head – but to come join me at the table. One lays the table, while the other takes out the plate. We invariably forget the spoons but never forget to take the “sarlas” (for the ignorant, it is raita made with curd, onion, and coriander leaves) out of the fridge. The scene is set once the layered biriyani is mixed and laid on the table. Food is relished in complete silence with an occasional crushing of the pappadam. The is no end to this happiness unless one of us reminds the others that we ought to feed the body and not the souls. But then again, if it is Biriyani, you, and the two of us at the dining table, every day becomes a cheat day.
Cleaning up the clutter 