In Appreciation…….. of the simple pleasures of life…

Zeena Singh For Eastern Mirror Sunday

Hello folks,

I believe that life has so much to give if only we cared to give a little thought to the most minuscule of joys (which we’d find so much of) only if we’d stop looking at the looming discomforts and discontents.
So here I am, to share with you the simplest joys in my life as I have experienced some time in my life and those that I take as I face each day, at a time.

In appreciation of the….. Delectable/Delicious/Scrumptious/Luscious/Palatable… lip-smackers

I write today of a time when one didn’t worry about fads like size zero, calorie counts or diet colas. One only revelled in the simplest and most desirable pleasure, that of gratifying the palate; an undertaking most effortless because of the varied array existing. One hitch of a predicament that loomed large was in satiating the yawning hollow present in the form of a perpetual cavernous belly. In a constant hunger mode the task was predominantly staggering.
As demanding and arduous the mission, the course of action conferred joy unspeakable.
Scrumptiously delectable is what I would term the source of all my good cheer. Dollops of Peanut butter spooned with the back of a toothbrush, slurps of sweetened milk, canned and condensed ; spoonfuls of powdered toned milk ; unending indulging sessions of deeply fried crunchy wafers of potato and corn; unwearied hammering for a mouthful of favourite hardened ‘panjeeri’ a delightful treat of flour cooked in ghee, laced with sugar, peanuts and coconut; munchy strips of salted and peppered home-made meat ‘jerkies’ with a taste of added palatable zing when eaten behind desk lids in math class; slice upon slice of bread in dripping-tooth- staining blackberry jam followed up with more bread stolen and slathered in butter layered with sugar…..
Unstoppable was the salivate at the thought of ‘grub’ that once was our only reason for living..forever insurmountable the intake …enough was never enough……..neither was the full bottle of my most favourite mom’s special pickled pork that had been sent across the miles. All huddled for the kill , the loaf of bread was ripped to bits as each of my roommates dove into the lip-smacking pickled Jar. Within a gulp of a mouthful, it was gone! All six of us dug in to get the last finger-lick. That done, the scramble began for the final inhale. Alas! No one wanted to bid their last adieu to the now empty jar. Standing instructions followed which kept me from washing the aromatic traces off of the jar. Thus it remained standing while each took turns in sniff-fulls in an attempt to hold on to a memory of something so appetisingly flavoursome.
Am I appreciative of all my succulent indulgences? As never before! The going was good, while it lasted. For now they but remain surreal.

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