The Egg You "Never" Wanted

On the days I felt like having egg and bread, I would ask, “Aaji tannek haav egg ani bread ghetasa. Tumka zaonka ve?” The answer was usually quick and confident. “Nakka!” (No.) Very clear. No egg required.

So I would make mine.

पिट्ल भात (pitla bhaat), you always liked the “boiling” egg - sunny side up, yolk bright and ready. The real fun was in breaking it and watching it spill over the toast. “Look! It is boiling!” Even though it was very much fried.

मटकी उसळ (matki usal), you always preferred the hidden one. I would fry the egg, add one teaspoon of water, cover the pan, and let the steam do its magic. When I lifted the lid, the yolk would be softly sealed under white. “Where is the yolk? Can you see it? Here it is!”

Boiling for one. Hidden for the other. And yet, despite that very firm “Nakka!”, something predictable would happen. I would plate my egg and sit down, and before I even took a bite, it would begin. The staring. First at the plate. Then at me. Then back at the plate.

“Can I taste it?”

There was never really a question. My plate would quietly move away from me. That is when Mamma would laugh and say, “Tanka Pappu kal khaata tenchi zaonka.” You did not want eggs. You wanted whatever Pappu was eating.

Within moments, my carefully made egg belonged to you, and I would be back at the stove making another one - this time actually for myself. Many mornings required a third egg. Not because anyone was hungry. But because you did not want egg… until it was mine.

After a few years of this, I learned something important: when cooking with you two, always keep a second pan heating. And maybe a third egg ready.