Love. Truth and Tears (reposted)

"Men don't cry? I would rather cry and be a kid than to miss shedding tears on what I miss"

P(re).S: The content might be edited in the future.

I am not known for my culinary prowess; if at all. But, duressed, in an unorthodox recess of reclinary state, I embarked on the trifling task- a tactful torture-, to trick the taste out, of taters(or tubers), sufficient enough to stimulate or atleast satisfy those most-ungourmetic buds biding their time on the strongest muscle in the body.

Not to know what the outcome gives a kind of thrill- starting on this premise- I mauled the potatoes with the razor-sharp knife to geometrically impossible shapes-after all what goes in comes out, right?- with a glint of pithy (as to the outcome) and without a hint of pity. Washing those eccentric elements, I subjected them to the dipole disaster, the one where heat is produced due to the realignment of the dipolar-molecules that are sugar, fat and water(essential ingredients in food). Immediately I literally forced them into the frying pan, with unproportionally large amount of oil in it.

Born and brought up in a place prominent for it's pickles(red-hot, If I may add), I like spicy, red-hot recipes. Consequently, I put a large amount of chilli powder, without a sense of "chef-man"ship( believe it or not cooking is a men's art). Subjected the medley to a torturous twenty minutes of heat. Not exactly sure if I am supposed to put a cover on it when frying, but I went for it ; twenty minutes with occasional stirring, and the cover was hotter than the fires of hell. And with the infinite wisdom bestowed upon me by the infinite, I removed it with my bare hands: and believe me, I realized infinity( may be I am the "MAN WHO KNEW INFINITY"), and spoke to him, in those moments of "ecstacy" in not so kind a manner.

And after my "monolouge with the almighty", I glared at the finished product; like the eyes of sauron, black and red; like the coal embers, half-spent; like a man beaten black and blue. But I took solace, as we always do, through selective memory, in an adage "One's own work, though defective, is better than others', well done.

Forgot to mention: Just to be sure that the "thing I cooked" is spicy enough I added "not so little" chilli powder again.

And finally sat down to devour the delicacy "delicately" done.


I never knew Newton's third law includes inanimate things, and who would not like to pay back if a chance comes- and payback they did: the poor potatoes prodigioulsy punished by me.

It was scotching hot outside, my stomach acids mirroring the same effect. So, with the drone of the AC providing the background score, I put a piece of the mix(rice+potato) in my mouth. Yummy, said my thinking centers, the cortices,result of the inter-play between the basic urges and ego; contradicting the danger signals emitted by the real contact centers. When human will wills it, you can create any contrasts, in opposition to the real sensual experiment. The heat, outside and inside, struck a synchronous chord with the spice, and tears welled up in my eyes.

To bring a man down hit him when he is at his weakest, and believe me, you are the weakest when you are curbed of your basic needs. A Man in hunger- haven't you heard of people eating people- A Man with lust- Exempli gratia not needed, A Man in fear and a Man in rage- they bring out the core that is madness in us. They don't think. They act; with those undeveloped animal brains(we call it the unconscious)preferring survival and ferocity over the morals that are human.

Hunger, lust, fear and rage- ha! but haven't I forgotten one more thing?- that is essentially human but enigmatically animal; the emotion that is the plot driving and inspiring all the arts; the emotion "whose pattern is similar to madness"- as Agent Smith puts it; the emotion that has destroyed many a lives at the same time rendering beauty to many others; the emotion that "conquers all"(Virgil); the emotion that is the worst undoing of anyone yet the most essential- The emotion that is LOVE.

Excess of spicey ingredients resulted in Tears, but it's the lack of ingredients that broke the dam; that rocked my 6foot 1 inch frame. It contained all the ingredients to satisfy my taste buds but missed the one that is essential for the triangular shaped thing:"mother" of all troubles and triumphs.
Often, you miss a person when he is not around; and 11 years of hostel life had exactly that effect. Somehow instead of being accustomed to their absence I was bound to them soul and skin(Ah! and you know not the repercussions when you look for motherly love everywhere) What I eat and when I eat was never in priority for me (You can ask my roomies for proof), because when there isn't the magic touch, food looses its appeal, atleast for me. (You might accuse me ofratiocination but the fact remains).


We are warm-blooded animals and we have Homeostasis to regulate body temperature. But, I know of a place, which without homeostasis maintains a constant temperature that is comfortable and soothing even when your heart is cold and crying; a place that stays warm whatever the weather be-internal or external- you would have taken refuge in that place- when gloom dooms your spirits, when you are stripped of all the courage to face the mundane- you would have placed your head in your mother's lap and have rejuvenated and healed. And I had the honor to know about the perennial source of that warmth- the source which with the mother's touch transfers and completes the cuisine- A Mother's love.

And it's love I miss and love I crave
though people think I am naive.

That's what I missed that day.

And this medley of hunger and piled up repression of emotions aggressively stimulated the limbic system- it in turn firing the Acetylcoline and thus the lacrimal glands

and I cried..........