WATALAPPAN WOES

It had been almost a week since Eid came and went, and five-year-old Bindu felt like nobody cared enough to listen to him.

His sister Bunty’s classmates, and their neighbours Rizzy and Izzy always invited both of them for Eid celebrations at their home. And this year Bindu had not been able to go because he had caught a terrible cold and was stuck in bed with fever.

But his sister had gone promising to bring back Rizzy and Izzy’s mother’s famous and mouth-watering Watalappan just for him. True to her word, Bunty brought back a bowlful of the stuff which Bindu hardly had an appetite to eat. “Please keep it for me and I’ll eat it tomorrow,” he said. Then when Bindu had woken up hungry the next day, the bowl was empty and his father smiled apologetically at him.

“I’m sorry son! I had no idea it was for you. I felt quite hungry last evening and ate the whole bowl,” he said quite sheepishly.

Bindu had cried for a long while, and his parents had promised they would do their best to get him some more Watalappan from their neighbours. So Bindu waited eagerly over the next few days hoping that a bowl of the magical Watalappan would appear.

“Did you ask Rizzy and Izzy for it?” he asked his father impatiently as he arrived after work. “Ask them for Watalappan?” Bindu’s face fell as he realised his father had forgotten.

“Oh NO! I’ll go ask right now,” his father rushed out of the door and down the lane. After a while he returned shaking his head. “Nobody was at home son,” he said. “I’ll go ask tomorrow morning on the way to work.”

So Bindu decided to wait; surely by the time he returned from school there would be wonderful Watalappan!

But as he burst through the door and flung his bag on the nearest chair that afternoon, he saw no sign of anything on the table. The only thing that greeted him was his baby brother who yelled “Aiyaaaaa! Aiyaaa!” joyfully.

“Amma where’s the Watalappan?” he called out.

“What Watalappan?” his mother called from the kitchen.

It was at this point that Bindu began to feel quite angry. “Everybody is forgetting about me!” he said and stormed to his bed and sat down gloomily. “Well if everyone is forgetting to get me Watalappan, I will make it myself,” he felt quite determined and sorry for himself at the same time.

Waiting till his mother was nowhere in sight, Bindu looked around the kitchen. He remembered his father saying that it took a lot of eggs and jaggery to make Watalappan.

He found six eggs and a bottle of Kithul honey which he thought would do. Breaking the eggs as best as he could, Bindu began mixing in the honey with a spoon. Tasting a little bit of it, he grimaced. It tasted like egg more than Watalappan. “Maybe cooking it would help,” he thought and looked at the gas cooker hoping to remember how to switch it on. But just as he was about to turn the knob, his mother walked in and shouted in horror.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THE GAS COOKER?” she screamed and quickly pulled him away. “And what have you done to my eggs?”

There was a litter of egg shells scattered around the kitchen floor and all Bindu could do was shrug, afraid his mother would shout at him some more.

Given a sound scolding and sent out of the house, Bindu felt his heart grow heavier. “Now I’ll never get Watalappan,” he thought out aloud. And then, quite suddenly and magically Rizzy appeared at their gate with a plate and bowl in his hand.

“Your sister told me you missed the Watalappan the other day. So my mother sent this, and some samosas too,” he said with a grin handing it over to Bindu who ran up to meet him.

Tears stung his eyes in happiness and Bindu, thanking him, went inside his house and found the quietest corner possible. “I’m going to have this now, before anyone else sees it,” he said. And scooping it up with his fingers, he began to eat his long earned Watalappan blissfully.