A knack for a snack

So my mom's visiting, and that's a great thing because unlike my spouse, I'm not blessed with annual parental visits. There is no direct flight for my parents to get to Singapore, and it's a real pain to travel with stopovers, especially when my dad insists on staying back because apparently his kitchen garden only accepts water from his hands.

This time, however, we found a good workaround. First, Mom flew off to my in-laws' place, and after a couple of days gup-shupping with her samdhi-samdhan, she took a flight (a direct one, yeah!) here.

Every time she visits, our phone calls preceding the visits are rather dramatic. Sample the ones from this round. (I feel like I'm now having all the squabbles that as a teenager I never had with my parents.)

"No, Mom, I don't need any masala. We have Indian shops here. There is a minimart nearby. I get everything."

"Okay, I can't find Kashmiri mirch in the minimart, maybe get me a pack of that."

"No, no kurtis and salwar-kameezes for me. There are hardly any occasions to wear them. They will just sit and rot."

"No, no shirts for Viv either. We have just Kon-Marie-d and we don't... I'll explain what is KonMari when you get here."

"No, he will not at all 'bura maano' if you don't get anything. You know him."

"Nope. No dresses for Xena. She doesn't like dresses, and the dresses you get are all fancy and frilly and, err... scratchy."

"No, I don't need papad and achar. Just get your stuff and come."

"No, no mithai, please. No mithai at all. Okay? Okay wait, can you get 100 grams of kaju barfi?" (It's the only mithai I like.)

"Don't bring cash, okay? You'll lose in exchange."

But parents are parents. And moms are moms. One more level up.

So there was all the drama after she got here.

"What is this Patanjali nonsense? I didn't ask for Patanjali mirchi powder. I wanted Kashmiri mirch."

"No, I don't care if everyone in India is using Patanjali-everything. I wanted Kashmiri mirch."

"Two dresses for Xena?? I asked you not to! Good luck convincing her to wear them."

"Why so much papad? Oh my goodness, my freezer is bursting with mini papad packets because of Xena."

"This is not 100 grams of kaju barfi. This is more like 300 grams! Why????"

"I don't care if the mithaiwala will judge you for buying 100 grams of kaju barfi. I had specifically said I wanted 100 grams. I don't go to the gym every day to have a ton of kaju barfi sitting in my fridge!"

"Oh my goodness, why did you get so much cash??"

"What is this?? Oh my goodness, why did you get ribbon pakoda?? Where did you even get it??"

"You let mom-in-law send soooo many packets of ribbon pakoda?? Of course she will send it if you tell her you like it soooo much! Do you have any idea how addictive it is... all my gymming... yada yada yada..."

"What do you mean if I don't want them, you will take them back with you? You are the queen of binge-snacking. You're certainly NOT taking them."

Okay, so here's the truth. Whenever Viv and I watch stuff on Netflix, we snack a bit but we kind of (try to) control it. But there was this time that we finished an entire container of ribbon pakodas that mom-in-law had sent. (That stuff is the devil, I tell you, THE DEVIL!) After that, we swore that we shall not let any more ribbon pakoda or any other such addictive snacks from India cross into our threshold ever again.

Last night, Viv and I were watching 'Elementary' after Xena slept off. Suddenly he paused the show mid-way and walked off. I knew what that meant.

"Get the whole dabba then," I hollered after him.

"You're a girl after my own heart," he gleefully bounded back with the box of the kaju barfi in his hands.

We finished it. In less than 5 minutes I believe.

Sigh.

The boxes of ribbon pakodas are still sitting in the kitchen, unopened and under threat that Mom will take them back with her since we don't want them.

It's a real dilemma, I tell you.