I gave him a stern look. How could I, the fine and nutritious quinoa, share a table with the obscene ‘bhatura channa’. He looks everything that ever stood for crude and unhealthy. I mean just look at that swollen belly of maida drunken in the guileful oil.
It seems like a single bite of the disdainful ‘bhatura’ could strangle every good nutrient in the body. Look at me, packed with so many coloured vegetables just waiting to please the gut. It’s not for nothing that I’m called the super grain and have every mineral and protein that this bhatura dish can only dream of.
And who calls himself ‘bhatura’? Uncouth! The name itself shoves ‘whoever indulges in you’ in that blazing oil. You come out looking like a pig covered in grease. I can’t even look at the baking soda ridden channa. As if the onslaught of the soda wasn’t enough, it is thrust with an overdose of every possible Indian spice and salt that you’d rather use in a month’s time.
How do I stand that disgusting smell of the disgracious pickle and onions that goes along?
You say that you’ve always been there for the Indian palate and I’m the new kid who will soon fizzle out. But tell me, weren’t corded phones replaced with cordless, and then smartphones? I’m the change that everyone has been waiting for.
But hey you, yea you human! What do you think you’re doing, nooo don’t get tempted, not even one bite. No, no, no
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