BY C S KRISHNAMURTHY  

 

 

WHEN I was little, my aunt always served the best Rasmalai during our visits. I remember a summer afternoon at my aunt’s house, when she offered, “Would you like some Rasmalai?” My eyes lit up at the sight of the creamy, sweet dessert. My heart leaped, but I hesitated, stealing a glance at my mom. In our family, the unspoken rule was to always politely decline the first offer. My parents drilled this into me: “Don’t be greedy, and never say yes right away.” Mom’s voice echoed in my mind. This inner conflict between desire and decorum was a frequent childhood challenge. There were the strict rule-followers who took the parents’ “no” at face value. They would whisk away the bowl, leaving the child’s mouth, watering. Once home, I’d unleash my frustration on my mother: “I wanted that Rasmalai! Why did you say no?” Mom would try to soothe me, but nothing could erase the disappointment. During one visit the temptation became too strong. This time, my eyes nearly popped out of my head at the thought of the luscious dessert. But social etiquette demanded a refusal. I swallowed hard and, against my instincts, shook my head. I glanced at my mother, silently pleading, but she stuck to the script: “No, thank you, dear. We just had lunch.” It was a confusing message for a kid who loved sweets.

 

My eyes were glued to the bowl of the melt-in-your-mouth paneer discs drenched in fragrant, silky cardamom, saffron-infused milk. Wow! But that day, I couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe it was the tantalising sight of the delicacy or just the sheer injustice of denying a child, the pleasure of indulging the dessert. I blurted out, “I’m not full! I’ll have some”. Auntie happily handed me the bowl. I dug into the dessert with enthusiasm, devouring one after another, feeling a mix of triumph and embarrassment. Mom was mortified, but I didn’t care. My little act of rebellion earned me the delicious treat, but mom’s dismay was palpable. I also had friends who stuck to the script, dutifully saying “no” while eyeing the snacks. Some perceptive hosts, wise to our little charade, would say, “You don’t have to look at your mother. Tell me!” and offer the dessert bowl directly. They understand that a child’s eyes don’t lie. Some hosts, trying to be considerate, wouldn’t even ask. They’d proactively thrust a cup of milk into my hands instead. For a child who despised milk, this was a nightmare, especially with my mom’s insistence not to waste it. It felt like a punishment rather than a kind gesture. Visits to relatives always had this silent battle. Growing up, this awkward dance took on new forms.

 

At social gatherings, the question, “Would you like some tea?” often arose. My instinct was to say yes, but politeness dictated otherwise. Eventually, I learned the art of diplomacy. “If you’re having some, I’ll join you.” This way, the host could decide, and I wasn’t left longing. I watch today’s kids with a mix of admiration and envy. They’ve skipped the pretenses. When asked, “Would you like some juice?” they respond directly, with a confident “Yes!” It’s refreshingly straightforward. Children today have it easier, I think. Their forthrightness makes social interactions simpler, and honestly, I wish I had their freedom to say what I truly wanted back in the day. Reflecting on these moments, I realise how much simpler life is when you just say what you want. There’s no need for the elaborate dance of polite refusals and longing glances. Sometimes, it’s okay to be direct, to say, “Yes!”, and savour the pure bliss with every bite! After all, life’s too short to miss out on the good stuff.