Bread Upma

The Great Pao Chronicles: Tale of Decluttering and Discovery

It was a bright, lazy holiday morning when I woke up, stretched, and realized- today was The Day. The day my mom would casually suggest, with an angelic smile, that I finally declutter my room. Now, usually, this was an unsupervised mission. I could stuff things under the bed, push some papers into an old bag, and pretend my desk was spotless. But this time, my mother, with the determination of a seasoned detective, decided to sit and watch.

I should’ve known something was up.

Armed with a cup of chai, she perched herself on the bed, watching me with that Moms Know Everything expression. “Chal beta, let’s see what treasures you’ve collected this year,” she said, sipping her tea.

I gulped.

Now, let me clarify- there were no actual secrets. My friends and I had developed a sophisticated code language to write harmless letters. You know, the kind that would sound thrilling to us but made no sense to the rest of the world. For instance, “Operation Yellow Pao” actually meant Sneaking out to eat vada pav, and “Mission Blue Ink” was about passing notes in class without getting caught. Genius, right?

Wrong.

As I sifted through my old notebooks, a stack of letters and scrapbook pages tumbled out. My mother raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?” she asked, reaching for one.

I lunged forward like a goalkeeper saving a penalty shot. “Oh, nothing! Just some old schoolwork.”

But moms, as history has taught us, have reflexes sharper than a hawk. She snatched a letter and unfolded it. I watched, frozen, as her eyes scanned the page.

She read aloud. “The Eagle has landed. We meet at 4 p.m. at Base Camp Alpha. Bring the goods.”

I broke into a nervous sweat.

My mom set the letter down slowly. "तुमचा बँक दरोडा टाकायचा प्लॅन करत आहेस?"

“Uhh…” I hesitated. “It’s about... uh, getting pao bhaji after tuition?”

A long silence followed. Then, she burst out laughing. “I should’ve known. Your biggest secret is food-related.”

Phew. Disaster averted.

But the victory was short-lived. Because, as expected, this decluttering exercise consumed the entire day. By evening, my stomach was growling louder than my mother’s storytelling voice as she recounted her teenage escapades (which, let me tell you, were much more scandalous than mine!).

And what was the grand feast after all this mental and emotional exhaustion?

Bread maska and chai.

Breakfast? Bread maska and chai.
Lunch? Bread maska and chai.
Dinner? Surprise! Bread maska and chai.

From that day on, pao wasn’t just bread for me- it was history, nostalgia, and revenge (because I vowed to someday make my mother declutter her own cupboard!).