Of gajars and steel Tiffin boxes…

A self-prescribed diet has had somewhat satisfactory results for me (ask someone who has been plagued with three tiers around his stomach what it means to achieve two tierdom…) but this satisfaction came at a cost (whoever said that there is a free ride to success was probably blow jobbing his/her {isnt it wonderful to be politically correct is such contexts ...tee hee}way to glory)…and the cost came in the shape of a phallic root vegetable (there is an impressive term for root vegetables which I cant for the life of me remember)…gajar or carrot…

Much to the amusement of my chole bature (yumm), Chow chow (we Bengalis call noodles chow chow …we are a weird race aren’t we …sigh…) and alu paratha-devouring colleagues my tiffin comprises gajar and cucumber (and the fact that the box happens to be a quaint lil steel one doesn’t help either)…so obviously have managed to become a lunchtime outcast in the office (they crack gajar jokes behind my back) …sigh…

Social stigma apart gajar has been a bane of my existence in many different ways…it doesn’t suit my system you see…causes …errm… lets say …acidity…

So after much consultation (with my friendly neighborhood sabziwalla, who insists that he will provide me with a tastier, cheaper alternative) have decided that …

Its goodbye gajar

And hello radish…:)