gaspersWorld

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I have been having some fascinating dreams, lately.

Usually, I don't give a damn about dreams, but some dreams have made me lie down in bed and try to rewind the fantasy.

Last night, for example, I had this exciting dream, and everything seemed to be coming in my direction, but then I woke up before the end and couldn't figure out what I was dreaming about.

Was I growing old? Well, forgetting dreams was alright, but forgetting things. Huh.

Last week, my wife stumped me with one of her infamous questions.

“Do you know what next weekend is?”

I looked at her, smiled, scratched my head, and said, “No, whose birthday is it?”

Keeping up with family birthdays is not my strong suit, especially the ones who are not on Facebook. I have trouble remembering my own birthday at times, let alone family members.

“You don't know what next Thursday is?”

“Why? I will get the notification on Facebook,” I said without a thought.

Was it my daughter’s birthday? I wondered, she was not on Facebook.

I didn't like the look my wife threw in my direction.

“Okay,” I said, “I have no idea whose birthday it is. What is the celebration about? Tell me.” I said showing some concern.

NO CELEBRATION NO COMMENTS

“You really don't know, do you?” she looked at me as though I had done some crime and was trying to deny it.

Thinking about it, I said, “I don't have another doctor's appointment on Thursday, do I?”

Then she did something that I'd never seen her do before. She flashed her wedding ring in my direction.

“Oh no,” I said, pumping my fist into my palm.

“Of course I remember,” I said with a smile, “I remember very well when I got married, where I got married. But till today, for the life of me, I can’t remember why I got married.”

She just ignored my statement, as she always does.

“What do you want to do?” she asked probably referring to our wedding anniversary, “Go out for dinner?”

Going out was the last thing on my mind. It was one of those really busy weeks where there was hardly enough time to breathe. All I wanted to do was relax in the house.

“No,” I said rather hesitatingly, “why don't you cook something?”

THE COOKING CHAMPION

That brought a bright smile to her face, am sure she took it as a compliment that she always wanted to hear -- which perhaps made her think that I loved what she cooked.

I guess it was the first time that I made such a statement.

I must confess that she has peculiar skills and talents when it comes to cooking. Even though I cannot separate her skills from her talents, I am yet to find out if she really knows to cook or just experiments all her recipes on me.

I may not be an expert on many things, but like all men, I am an expert in tasting food. I am quite sure my wife has won no five stars from me so far for her cooking or baking.

Her style of cooking characterized by distinctive ingredients, techniques and dishes, is neither Goan, Indian or Western; it is just alien.

The way she uses an assortment of sauces, stuffings, onions, mashed potatoes, and a medley of vegetables and makes gravies that create all shades of crayon, would inspire the most tone-deaf person to sing.

I do sing when she cooks – with all that salivating aroma in the entire building which would wake up the dying, but then, when I eat, I think of the last supper of Jesus.

In all her servings, she always has the cheek to ask me, “How is the taste?”

During our years of marriage, I have been giving her indirect knock-on hints like, “I guess JW Marriott, or even the Sheikh Sabah family might want to hire or even kidnap you if they happen to find out there is such a great Goan chef living in Kuwait.”

None of my knocks ever hit a nail in her head. So I had to be direct to her quest of, “How is the taste?”.

Even though I know I have to face her grilling, my answer has always been, “The best food I have ever tasted in this world...”

“...𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗺𝘆 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿!” 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝗺.

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