When The Onions Went Missing… ( Day 13 )

Yesterday, it was my first time at a dhaba – a place that gives you feels. The aesthetic feels of the authentic North Indian cuisine.

We were a group of friends from different age groups. And the dhaba had these cute cabanas that could be reserved for family or friends extending privacy at the dining table, unlike the usual restaurant seating arrangements. 

We had been planning for this get-together for many months now. At 10 in the night, we reached the dhaba and were geared up for the rest of the night. We talked and talked until the food arrived.

The first thing I do when I’m in a restaurant is placing the onion rings nicely in my plate and marinating them with salt, pepper and lemon juice. That’s a ritual I follow every time I go to a north Indian restaurant and am often judged by my close friends for this habit of mine. 

But this time, as the pricey onions have left us all teary-eyed and are the hottest topic for all the news channels for the longest time now, I subconsciously did not look for the onions on the table. Because generally, the hotels cut down on onions when there’s a rise in prices.

While I sat at the edge of the table, I could hardly see what’s there on the other side of it.

The food came in one by one, starting with the tandoori starters and the mouth-smacking chana Koliwada, followed by the main course that consisted of roti, chicken handi and dal khichadi ( coincidentally everyone’s favourite ).

Everything was just perfect. I relished on every delicacy that was served in my plate. I did like the food. But at the back of my mind, I felt something was amiss. I seemed to be restless. I didn’t know what bothered me until I put the first spoon full of dal khichadi into my mouth.

Almost spontaneously I said it out loud as the dal khichadi soothed my taste buds, ” If only there were onions along with this amazing dal khichadi!”

As a repulse of my sadness, all the others at the dining table pounced at me, “Here are the onions. They’re lying there all this while.”

I sank into my chair. How could I not notice the onions on the table? How didn’t I ask for them all this while? I sighed.

Everybody laughed at my plight. The pricey onions made a boo-boo of me. 

At last, I did have them along with the piping hot dal khichadi with the same ritual of mine – the sprinkling of the salt, pepper and lemon juice on the onion rings.

That’s all for today, a blog worth publishing on a Sunday night 🙂 

See you tomorrow with another blog post. 

Love

Shradz

P.S. My Mom says, “One onion costs around 20rs”, almost every day. I think that had a great impact on me. 

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