That-Kitchen : The Curious Case of the Nightly Aroma

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to the character is purely coincidental and unintentional.

The Curious Case of the Nightly Aroma

My nightly routine used to be simple: dinner in front of the TV from 8:30 pm to 9:00 pm, with Taarak Mehta Ka Ooltah Chashmah. Though not my favorite show, it’s a light escape from the usual family dramas. As a self-confessed foodie and an occasional cook with a “spice sense,” I usually enjoy my meal more than the TV. But lately, even my comfort show wasn’t cutting it, and I began to get restless. So, I decided to start a post-dinner night walk.

A Scented Discovery

 

One evening, during my nightly walk, I caught the aroma of something wonderful wafting from a kitchen on the first floor of the building opposite. There was a strange regularity to it: lights on at 8:30, the familiar whistle of a pressure cooker at 8:40—like a ritual. My quick stroll turned into a 30-minute “soap opera” as I imagined the culinary artistry happening behind those walls.

Aromatic Episodes

 

Over the days, I experienced a full array of aromas that tickled my curiosity. Rajma one night, then egg curry the next. My chapati count always increases with rajma, and that familiar fragrance lingered with me for hours. One evening, the unmistakable scent of Punjabi spices sparked an urge to investigate further. A look at the society board hinted at the cook’s identity: “Bhalla.” A lead, perhaps, but I needed more proof! The last week of the month deprived me of the post dinner walk, but my inquisitiveness for the person behind the spicy aromas was still alive. It goes in tandem with  “पेट भर गया पर मन नही भरा”

 

The Final Episode

 

After days of mouthwatering fragrances, I couldn’t resist anymore. On Sunday, I finally decided to confront my curiosity head-on and ring the doorbell of the aromatic kitchen. My heart raced as I imagined the skilled chef behind these flavors. I rang the bell, and after a pause, rang again. The door opened to…an uncle, around 45, in a worn-out pajama, with a questionable vest color and a balding head, holding a skimmer in one hand. My fragrant fantasy came crashing down!

 

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