A delightful, short personal essay about the endearing chemistry and camaraderie of a mother-daughter relationship portrayed with humor and razor-sharp wit.
“What is for lunch?” My daughter asked, flinging her college bag on the sofa.
“Egg curry, and let me tell you, it is yummy.”
“Oh come on, mom that is an oxymoron! How can egg curry –and that too prepared by you, ever be yummy, mummy?”
She hardly gave me time to pick up my fallen jaw from the floor, and was ready with another verbal onslaught.
“Why do you take me for such a moron that I cannot differentiate between yummy and yukky?”
“Honestly, it is not bad.” My words trying to insinuate themselves edgewise were pushed away by a powerful verbal salvo.
“You are talking to a person who does reviews on zomato, mom. Do not take me for a ride. I never had a very good opinion of your culinary skills. ”
“But folks rhapsodize about my culinary skills.”
“Ha, ha, folks will be folks. What do they know of yolks?”
“By the way, I will have to look up the etymology of this word-Oxymoron, does it allude to the moronic dimwittedness of an ox?”
“No, it does not. You ought to know, you are doing Literature honours.” I tried to make my eyes into slits of hostility.
Offence is the best form of defense, it is said, so I now attempted offense. But my offensive failed to put her on the defensive. It only succeeded in making her glare more ominous.
Suddenly her cellphone came to my rescue. She had a WhatsApp message, sending her into paroxysms of uncontrolled laughter.
“Mom, listen to this, ‘I went to a yoga class today and the instructor told me to only do what I felt comfortable doing and then she gave me a yoga mat, so I took a nap.’ I think, I too should take a nap, instead of being plagued by culinary oxymorons”, she said yawning, and heading towards her door, but then there was message after WhatsApp message, and the idea of sleep was messaged away.
By the time she had finished reading her messages, she had absolutely forgotten about the flurry about egg curry.
Or so I thought.
“And mom, please do not try to thrust eggs down my gullet, they bring a minor crisis in my life. I want no oxymorons in my life.”
“And please wipe that sad smile from your face.”
“Well, it is you who plead guilty to the charge of thrusting oxymorons down my gullet.”
“MINOR CRISIS and SAD SMILE, so there!”
I could feel her looks of scorching coolness on my back, but nevertheless patted my back for this peaceful conquest.
Oops, am I again guilty, this time, on two counts?
is this okay ?
Read Santosh Bakaya’s humorous musings
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