Curry and Chana

This morning as I ran around the second corner on the left side of camp on Hayden Lake Road I smelled an awful smell, but it was so familiar. I remember, I'd run to the back of the house where the door opened into the room we called the "kitchen". Every open surface had dirty dishes, drying dishes, bowls of food, or left overs. The left overs always hid the top of the portable gas stove top with a spoon hanging out the side and a lid smashed on top to keep the bugs out. Amma always had the best curries and chana sitting around after parents of students would stop by to visit for a morning breakfast or afternoon lunch. She only made the best for her guests. And we were no longer guests after the first month, but her own daughters, and so ... her food ... our food. After class got out I ran to the back door, because I knew the guests would be gone by now. I took quick steps across the kitchen floor and barely lifted off the lid to get a huge spoonful of curry and shoved it in my mouth when I heard Amma coming around the corner. "Tinaaaaa ..." she would hold the "aaaa" for a long time. After I realized what I had put in my mouth I spit it out as fast as I could. Blah! I stuck out my tongue and scraped off the remnants of dried fish curry. She was laughing, because she knew what I had done. It was the sour leaf boiled with dried fish and baking soda that the Garos could eat for every meal with a lumping plate of rice. The one curry I couldn't swallow. I should have learned to smell before I ate, but I never learned. Sometimes it's like that ... we think we're about to dish up something tasty, but, bah, so surprised when we throw in a huge spoonful of fish curry.