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mummy... chicchin!

I look like a Somalian drought victim. And as a matter of fact, so does Nivi. But believe you me, we can both drink like fishes and eat like elephants. Also a bragworthy fact here is that we can both drive like stink. Infact, she's prolly the only person who can keep up with me in the 1.0L category. But I'm not going to talk about our driving prowess here.

My family thinks the only thing I do as much as talking (of which I do a LOT!), is eating. And so do most of my friends. Only Hetch disagrees with me, but it's ok, since his eating abilities can put even Genghis Khan's (GK) copulating talent to shame. He (Hetch) and I are definitely not in the same league, though I think I have just as much talent as GK in the 'you know what' section. But I'm not going to talk about Hetch's eating abilities or GK's and my effing talents here either.

This post is infact about my eating habits, of which I have a close association with since birth. I know, I know, everyone have to eat to survive, but my connection with food and booze goes WAY deeper. Infact, the first word I uttered was "Chicchin", my way of pronouncing my favourite meat - chicken. I would wake up every morning and cry, "Mummy... chicchin!" (BTW, 'mummy' was the second word I spoke) And then mother dearest would whip-up some farex with egg, to give it that non-veg flavour. In my defence, I was too young to know the taste difference between all the different types of non-veg.

And this was just the beginning. According to my mom, we had gone to some dhaba to eat, and I, all of 1 1/2 years old, plonked myself on the table and ate the WHOLE tandoori chicken they ordered. The WHOLE bloody tandoori chicken! But wait! It gets worse. I also had my first encounter with the bitter nectar, beer, very soon after that. We were having a party at home, and mum refilled dad's mug. I incidentally happened to be sitting on his lap. So pop took a sip, laid it on the side table and turned his head to talk to someone. Meanwhile, I took my podgy little hands (I was a fat kid), and greedily lifted the mug to my lips and swung the whole thing down my podgy little throat! Poor dad turns around and finds the damn mug empty. He must have thought he had one too many then... hehe. I need not add that I had the longest nap of my life then, and according to my mom, she hasn't heard me snore like that till date! Prolly the reason why beer doesn't get me drunk anymore.

Now how's that for some food for thought?

2 comments:
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alole said...
May 9, 2008 at 11:37 AM  

a podgy little story ... do show me a pic of it sometime, someday or when'er, but do show me. i wonder what Hari's story would be like. :P

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Sue said...
May 20, 2008 at 12:00 PM  

hey, I beat your time mate!

I was drunk at the tender age of 1, on coke and rum.... no wonder I have 'kidney kidnap' problems..

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