it’s friday and the good folks at @zaiqamv are sending over a kukulhu dholangu. thanks zaiqa. today, i’m trying to impress my in-laws habeeb and his wife zuhura with my social media clout.

‘when can we eat?’ asks zuhura.

‘soon,’ i say.

‘you’ve been saying that for the past hour,’ she reminds me.

and it’s true, zaiqa are certainly taking their time with this delivery.

‘good things take time,’ i tell her. ‘just be patient.’

‘if i have to wait any longer, i’ll become one,’ says her husband habeeb, a man who cannot resist even the most infantile of wordplay.

i get a call. it’s them.

downstairs, i see zaiqa’s smiling delivery man with a large bottle of coca cola and a huge plastic bag filled with food.

i take it upstairs and receive looks of admiration from everyone, including samfa. we take out the dholangu and put it on the dining table.

our seven-year-old niece aisaanike asks us to take off the tinfoil covering and we do.

‘it’s chicken?’ she says, incredulously. ‘ahcheedi.’

i laugh while samfa snorts.

soon, everyone digs in, utterly famished.

‘it’s really good,’ says habeeb. ‘they don’t put too much spices in the rice.’

‘the chicken is done a bit differently,’ i say. ‘do you like it?’

‘very tender,’ says zuhura.

‘now, tell me. aren’t you glad samfa married me?’ i ask my mother-in-law, and she snorts, yes, like her daughter.

‘who wants coke?’ asks zubaida, samfa’s older sister.

turns out not all do as some immediately think of falastheen. whereas i just can’t stand the stuff.

‘you’re well on your way to making up for all we’ve fed you over the years,’ says zuhura, finishing off her chicken.

‘thank you, the least i could do,’ i reply.

‘i can’t wait see what else you will surprise us with,’ she says.

‘maybe they’ll make him a food ambassador to china or something,’ says zubaida.

‘if husenfulhu hadn’t quit his government job, he would be getting a fat pension by now,’ says my mother in law.

‘why join the government? we should encourage young people to go into business,’ says habeeb.

‘he wasn’t meaning you,’ whispers zubaida to me.
funny.

‘our daydreams of cushy government jobs are the problem,’ continues her father. ‘that’s what we were told to aspire to from a young age.’

‘speaking of the government,’ i add. ‘MMA’s told us to brace for impact this quarter.’

‘nobody cares about the MMA,’ says zubaida. ‘what do they know anyway?’

‘just saying. i’m gonna try get all the free grub i can in the coming weeks. better tighten those belts.’

‘you’ll need to LOOSEN yours before you stand up,’ zuhura tells me slyly. what a joker. perhaps i should get her thai next time, while the status quo still prevails. the old lady cares only for two cuisines: indian and thai. a woman of very conservative taste, this zuhura. and fittingly, she married a real loose cannon.

‘say something husenfulhu?’ asks habeeb.

‘nothing, nothing at all,’ i say, loosening my belt and digging into the gulaab jaamun.