This incident is from my childhood days when one of my aunts came to visit us with her 2 little daughters in summer vacation.
One evening, my mother offered to make sooji halwa (semolina pudding) for the kids, the 4 of us. She made it in her usual style with the perfect shade of brown. It was exactly like the way me and my brother liked it.
However, the Aunt’s daughters refused to eat it. They wailed and complained of the halwa not being black but brown. Thus, unable to talk them out of the situation, Aunt had to step in to prepare it all over again. When the plates came out of the kitchen and landed on the table, we found its colour to be pitch black. The girls were delighted and began savouring the black halwa with unmatchable pleasure. Curious enough, brother and I thought of tasting it. We took one spoonful each, tasted it, coughed and threw it out. We were amused because the black colour was the result of burnt sooji due to over-roasting. We made fun of their disdainful taste. Engrossed in our amusement, we couldn’t notice their 3 faces turned red with embarrasment.
Today, looking back, I do not feel proud of what we did that evening. Compassion is what we missed to practice that evening but we never got a lesson in it. Relatives picking on each other for the purpose of deriving sadistic pleasure was (and still is) the commonly accepted norm and therefore, our act was written off under the clout of normal.
Thinking of it, we could have made a difference. Showing compassion, we should have accepted everyone has got different tastes, burnt or not burnt, and they are perfectly entitled to have their own without the need to confirm to ours.
Linking this post with #MondayMusings hosted by Corinne Rodrigues