As the last Maggi wrapper flutters across the hillside at every tourist hotspot, we relive those magic masala moments—moments when the nation took to the noodle maniacally. Nostalgia, we know, is caused by too much lead in the soul. Maybe it’s too much Maggi in the veins.
Maggidomination, like Cocacolonisation, is the evil that must be banished. It must be outed from our tables, rucksacks, school tiffins and hospital canteens so that we can dive into our homemade attas and podis (powders) and munch on sprouts and wheatgrass. After all, we did quell the might of the multinational Cola and create our own brand of Indian colas and fizzy drinks raised in the glorious “spirit of 77”.
Does anyone remember the taste of Double Seven, the freedom drink? But every parent will remember the day their child came back from school, holding a packet of crinkly noodles. This was in the 1980s. “Mama, Maggi noodles!” they cried. And a brand was born. “We ate them like chivda, fresh from the packet,” recalls my son. The more diligent got it prepared: boil water, tip in the contents of the packets, watch the rippling waves and add the masala. One suspects this is where the damaging ingredients have been lurking. For, as a schoolchild of today’s generation informed me quite confidently, “Aunty, a nutrition expert says we will get brain cancer if we eat Maggi.” I felt like saying I must already have had brain cancer and died since the first time I had Maggi. Now though I have only one or two packets every year.
Soldiers say the gourmet item during Kargil was the Siachen omelette—with a filling of noodles. In an old-age home that I visit, the one luxury that the women share is half a packet of noodles, cooked with fresh leafy vegetables, or even a handful of dried prawns. What bliss when an old lady chews the mush with her gums. Ban Maggi by all means if it’s injurious to one’s health. But first let’s find a two-minute alternative that will be as Maggilicious!
Geeta Doctor is a food writer; E-mail: geeta.doctor [AT] gmail [DOT] com
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