The first time we met, I was almost seven.
It wasn't a chance encounter. It was a planned meeting. In fact, the planning was on for days. And then finally our mom decided on a Friday.
I don't remember what we did right to get to meet it. But we did. And it was great.
The day my mom cooked the Maggi noodles she had gotten for us. For the first time.
You see, Maggi was a prize when I was growing up. My mom used to give it to us when we were good to her. Because it wasn't cheap. Or at least because there were cheaper options available. So if you wanted Maggi, you’d have to earn it. It was an indulgence. Not something you’d have loads of, at home. (That was unimaginable then.) It wasn't the regular snack you'd get served. You had to be good kids.
The first time she made it at home, we were all excited. We had all seen someone at school eat it, but never had it ourselves. We had eaten the cubes before, in chow mein, but never the actual Maggi noodles. So it was a big deal. We had big plans to savour it. We finished our homework early and lined up inside the kitchen when she started making it, after reading the instructions over and over again. It said two minutes, but she could see that it didn't do the trick. It had to cook longer. Making it more difficult for her, as three kids, brimming with excitement, jumped around her. Asking for when it'd be done. When we would get to relish in it. We were all keeping time. “Do minute ho gaya mummy” we shouted.
And then finally it was done. While it wouldn't have been more than five minutes, it felt very long waiting for it. I still remember the steel plate with the design on its edge on which she served us. And the steel fork with black grip with which we ate it. We all sat at our seats, with our plates in front of us. My brother ate it the quickest (what a fool, I thought). My sister took her time. But I took the longest. Delighting in each strand. Still eating it, long after everyone else was done. My mom kept some aside for dad to eat when he’d come back home later. Oh, how I envied him for being able to eat them.
I didn't know then that two decades later, I would still be drawn by it.
Maggi has been a constant, but we didn't meet regularly. We would see each other some evenings, but my mother controlled the frequency. No more than twice a month was the limit. It was only when I started living by myself and mom’s control of my nutrient intake dissipated that Maggi and I started seeing each other more frequently. My pantry had as much of it, as my heart did.
There were many obstacles too. Everyone pointed out that it wasn't healthy for me. That I would be better off breaking away from it. So I improvised. I added vegetables and eggs. I got the oats and atta variant. I changed how it looked. Tried to explain that it's not all bad. That I can make it better. And I did all that I could to stay in touch with it. And to also relieve me of guilt of having just them. So when my mom would shout at me for having Maggi for a meal, I would have a retort.
While I got close to many other variants and labels, it was always to Maggi that I would return. The lockdown was a ringing reminder of how much I needed it. Maggi is not just food. It's a feeling. A reminder of the burdenless childhood. A comfort food. While I won't be as dramatic to say that it's life, it is an integral part of mine. I don't eat it for my health. I know exactly what I want from it and it delivers just that. Each time. It is the one to stay.
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I have been on a self-investigative journey for a good part of the last two months, trying to understand the reason behind my many habits. Why I've formed emotional bonds with so many objects. Spencer Dryden knew what he was talking about when he said “Get them while they're young and bend their minds.” When I recently started reading Clotaire Rapaille’s The Culture Code, I was astonished and appalled. His idea of getting them young, to get them for life sounded almost evil. While I won’t call the book a scientific one, there's hardly any rooting in actual science for much of what it says, it does sound intuitive and thus by extension spot on. I fought hard with myself, saying it just provides a different perspective to look at things. Problems. Not a guide to follow, because it's almost wicked what it's selling.
But I guess somewhere I was aware that nostalgia sells. And my love for this instant noodle stands up as a living testament to that for me. I have been away from home for some time. When things get even a little tough it is the burdenless childhood memory I find myself seeking to keep me afloat. To not completely give up. And the things I watched, listened to, or ate become the ones easily replicable. So I do. Maggi is a remnant of that time.
How the book talks about how Nescafe got the tea-loving Japan to be one of the biggest coffee importers (which they might have neither wanted nor needed), Maggi got me (and many more like me) to develop a strong bond with it, bond that even actual facts and data can't seem to break, by getting us in early on. As if ram-raiding our memories just to get us to buy things. But it's here now and I don't feel like depriving myself just to fight the system someone else planned to get me in and stay for life. So I will probably stick to eating it, all the while reminding myself of what a tool they made of me.
Image courtesy: Pranav Kumar Jain via Unsplash
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