home sick

It’s raining non-stop.

I woke up this morning, my cell phone alarm ringing loudly next to my right ear. I put it on snooze. Fifteen minutes later it rings again. Snooze.

Fifteen minutes.

Ring.

Snooze.

This happened 6 times till about ten in the morning when I dragged my self out of bed.

Nat calls, asks if we should even venture out to work. She has been watching the news for half an hour and she things it’s ‘not wise’ to go anywhere in this rain. I agree whole-heartedly.

I call my over enthu art partner, with whom I don’t quite get along much. I ask him if he is going to work and he says yes.
Crap, if he goes I gotta go cause I need to mail him the line.
I try to convince him to stay at home, else he gets stranded. No luck. Stupid enthu.

I call the Grinch (my boss) and tell him that my road is flooded with knee-deep water and it seems pointless. He tells me to chill. Stay at home. Don’t worry. It’s all good.

He has had a morning drink. I’m sure.

After about an hour of calling the office, calling bosses, calling art partners and calling secretaries, it was decided by someone that the office shall remain closed today. Yay! I get back into bed and start reading my book.

It’s almost lunchtime now. And I have a mouth-watering craving.

My dad’s chicken biryani.

I rarely stay at home from work, so when I do my dad cooks what I love. And the one thing he knows I love is his chicken biryani. On rainy days when there is just no way I can leave home and reach office in one piece, I sit in my room and read. And at about lunchtime there is this wonderful aroma wafting in from the kitchen. It’s chicken biryani in the making.

He makes it in a pressure cooker and when the lid is removed, you just see steam for ten seconds. There is a layer of rice, slightly coloured with red food colour. Then a big steel spoon digs into it and reveals more steam and a layer of succulent meat and perfectly cooked rice. Not to mushy, not too grainy, just melt-in-your-mouth good. And because the meat is pressure cooked, it is so soft, so delicious.

My dad serves it with a salad (chopped cucumber, tomato, onion and chilly in a light vinegar dressing) homemade pickle and roasted papad.

*Drool*

I want that biryani. I need it. I miss my dad.

I’m going for lunch now. I’m sure it’s not anything like what I am dreaming of. But it will have to do.
‘Cause I’m frikkin’ hungry right now.

Dammit.