The Dabba Dilemmas Continue…

I think I’ve ranted about my dabbas before. And again. But are my troubles to end? Of course not! That would just be totally uncharacteristic of my life (and my blog) wouldn’t it?

Only this time, my troubles don’t involve wannabe cat-burglars. My mother seems to have decided, Enough Is Enough. It is time to Stand Up For What We Believe To Be Good And Right In This World, like a man’s (read her son’s) right to take a dabba to work and be able to bring it back home at the end of the day.

And to ensure that this right is not snatched away from me, she has started giving me dabbas of the following colours:

Bright pink
Fluorescent green
Baby blue
Sunburst yellow

Now who in their right minds would want to filch something so pigmented, right? Exactly what my mother thought. Of course, what I would look like carrying something of this colouration is an altogether different and completely irrelevant matter.

Is woe me yet? I should think not! My mother noted with no little glee, that it was the Lock & Lock dabbas that most often disappeared. So to counter that, it was mutually decided by my mother and my mom to switch to Tupperware.

Mmmmmmmm, mmm. Tupperware. That sacred brand so trusted by Mothers around the world. Beautiful. I’ve had some bad experiences with Tupperware, mostly because of my ignorance of its properties. Like, for instance, carrying (and let’s just get this out of the way; yes, I did this through college) hot coffee in one of them Tupperware glasses (go ahead, guffaw. No, no, I insist. No need for politeness amongst us, now, is there?). Result? Jeans that needed washing often.

Anyhoo, that history notwithstanding, I consented to carrying the deathtraps in my bag (provided, of course, that the food be cooled before sealing). A wise move, perhaps.

Perhaps not. Two days ago, Baby Blue decided to spew out some aloo sabji that I was carrying back home. Great. My bag took on the aromatic semblance of a masala dosa. Woo the hoo! But of course, woe hasn’t become me yet!

Yesterday, Bright Pink decided to stage a revolution, too. This time I was taking home aloo-and-some-unidentifiable-inedible-object in a tomato-ey gravy. Woo the hoo two! Now my bag smells not just like masala dosa, but also like the sambhar they had at college. Yippee.

Hang on. Hang on just a gosh-darned minute. Did I see a trend there?

Food I take home
Aloo

Great. Now I’ll have to find some way to convince people at work to finish my dabba for me every time I have anything that contains a shred of potato.

 

Meh.