SPAGHETTI
It was a routine, once a week, I would eat Spaghetti. There was a Spaghetti corner near my house where every evening there were hundreds of people waiting for their Spaghetti. And it was run by, Mamta Aunty. She was the one who introduced us to her special Spaghetti.
One day, late at night, I went to the Spaghetti corner. Mamta aunty was closing the shop. I quickly went to her and requested if she could take one more order. She agreed happily. She once again opened the whole shop and began making spaghetti just for me.
You might be thinking Mamta aunty to be of the age around fifty five. But she was nearly seventy years old. I was always intrigued by the fact that how she is running this shop at such an old age. I thought today is the right moment to ask her.
"Aunty, can I ask you one thing, " I asked hesitantly.
"Yeah, go on, " she said spreading the Spaghetti on the griddle.
I waited for a moment and then asked.
"Aunty, why are you running a shop at such an old age?"
She stopped for a moment. Her eyes were fixed on the Spaghetti as if she was remembering something. As if I had touched a fresh wound. She then looked at me.
"Life is not always the bed of roses, " she stopped for a moment and then continued, "For me, it has always been thorns. I won't say much because I don't want to remember all that, but, all I will say is- sometimes in your life you have to stand for yourself."
She stopped there and began cooking the spaghetti. I didn't say anything further. I had got all my answers.
The Spaghetti arrived and I ate in silence.