It was one of those big fat Iftaar parties (During Ramadan) at our house. I was trotting about, the usual nine-year-old who was up to no good along with my brother who probably would have been three years old. Mother was busy, preparing her special delicacies for Iftaar and the smell made our tummies rumble. But I could not eat anything until the ‘Adhaan’ calls out to break my fast. This irritated me deeply as I was the biggest foodie in the entire family and my mother had the habit of the locking the refrigerator because of me. My father loathed the whole process of unlocking the fridge to get food out of it. Since there was a party on the cards, he unlocked it for the whole day to make things easier for him.
I was lurked about and played with my action figures (yes, I loved them a little too much to stop playing with them and DON’T forget that I had a little brother to please.) I had noticed the unlocked fridge and this pleased me immensely. Stealthily, I walked into the store room where the fridge was kept and pretended to carry some fruits into the kitchen. It was prayer time, so mum had gone out for a ten minute prayer break. I saw my chance and leapt to open the fridge door and gorge down the first thing my hands could grab. But I was in no rush, I took my time, savoring the beautifully garnished food, wrapped in thin cellophane transparent (glad) sheets, much to my delight. I was scanning it from the top to the bottom when a small cake box was tucked away in a corner behind the huge watermelon. I just hit the jackpot, I thought. Haphazardly, I opened it and gobbled up the creamy chocolate cakes. (There were two pieces, one for my brother and one for me.)
Approximately three hours later, my mother found out that I ate those cakes, but she did not breathe a word. It’s amazing how moms work, they just KNOW things. She is like a mini Sherlock when it comes to cooking and everything and anything even remotely related to cooking. I was guilt ridden and restless. I knew I committed a terrible deed, broke my fast for a chocolate cake! Hey, I was dumb and hungry back then (facepalm). And then I decided to confess that I had broken my fast and stolen my brother’s cake as well.
The guests were due to arrive any minute so I had to hurry. I heard the grinding sounds of the mixie when I walked into the kitchen, mum was making mango smoothies. I stood right behind her, hesitating and fidgeting.
“I already called up your father and asked him to get another box of those cakes.” She said. Without even turning around to see who it was.
“How do you know?!” I exclaimed.
She raised her right brow and said, “You reeked of chocolate cake, dear.”
“Are you sure you don’t practice magic or anything?” I asked and gaped at my mother.
Ignoring the preposterous comment, she said, “I am glad that you chose to come and tell me that you had broken your fast. In fact, I am proud of you.”
This was a small incident from my childhood and even though it simply involved stealing cakes and breaking my fast, my mother’s confidence in me strengthened the whole notion of being honest in life. She trusted me back then and she trusts me to this very day. That was one of the lessons I learnt from the book of honesty – my mother’s belief in me.