This happened at a wedding buffet. I took some noodles and right next to the noodles counter was the starting of the sweets section. Since it was early, I was among the first few people eating.
Now the gulab-jamun-serving uncle was standing there, an old man with the sweetest, permanently-happy face. The kind of face that smiles even when life gives you lemons.
I made eye contact for exactly half a second. That was enough. Before I could turn away to the pasta counter, he had already lifted the giant ladle, smiling ear to ear, ready to drop a gulab jamun onto my plate. I didn’t have the heart to stop him. I extended my plate like a socially anxious adult and accepted my fate.
So there I was, noodles soaked in gulab jamun sugar syrup, taking bites of gulab jamun in between. I will not describe the taste. I will not recall, relive and record that experience. I just mentally lied to myself and kept saying, “It’s like Manchurian noodles….sweet Manchurian noodles.…” and somehow survived.
Unrelated picture of Boondis, because I refused to take a photo of that crime scene. Why am I so nice? Why couldn’t I just say no?
Image Source: My gallery