While my dad, the ever-chill parent, stuck to the routine and took us to our beloved Hotel Asoka, my aunt had other plans. She was so dismayed by our marks and the teacher’s complaints that she decided to teach us a lesson in the most unconventional way possible. With a stern look, she ordered the waiter not to serve us a morsel of food while she indulged in a heavenly masala dosa.

As we sat there, hungry and dejected, the sympathetic waiter’s gaze only added to our misery. Aunt had vanished into the washroom, devouring her dosa while we stared longingly at the other tables. Frustration began to brew, and we decided to make our own fun – playing by the fountain, entertained by its resident fishes.

Dad, torn between empathy and his sister’s academic mission, could only watch as we endured our culinary exile.

The next day, like a plot twist in a sitcom, my dad decided to play the hero. After school, he took us right back to Hotel Asoka and treated us to the very dosas we had missed the previous day. It was a gesture that could only be made possible in a joint family, where even stern aunt could be outsmarted with love and a crispy dosa.

Dad’s knack for handling relatives without offending them was truly a skill he had mastered. He knew how to balance the scales of justice between our academic lessons and our appetites, ensuring that family ties remained unbroken, and our taste for dosas, well, fully satisfied.

And so, dear reader, whenever you see me enthusiastically ordering dosas at restaurants, remember that it all began with a PTA meeting, a stern aunt, and an unfulfilled desire from childhood that continues to dictate my taste buds today. Such is the power of our subconscious memories, always ready to resurface and surprise us.

I owe it to my aunt for educating me, and I adore my father for his unconditional love. This story is a testament to the unique blend of lessons and affection that shaped my childhood.