Smells of a past forgotten
Smells of a past forgotten Smell, I smell wierd. Of meat I make meat everyday in a communal kitchen. My boss is a fat, venom spewing crazy coot who likes to abuse prolifically in hindi. Maa behn ki gaalis. I do not disapprove, do not get me wrong. I abuse too. It’s only when I cook, I like to keep my mind clean of thoughts that can affect the taste of my cooking. I think the taste of the meat changes with anger and foul language. It has to be cooked with tender loving care. I enjoy cooking. This is my calling, so it seems. I am 28 years old and a chef. I smoke hash every day to stay on this realm. Else I will not be alive. I need substance to keep my twisted brain in order and ticking. I am hooked onto the stuff and cannot do without my daily fix. I live in Mumbai. My folks are in Hyderabad. I left home when I was 19, not as a runaway, but as a confirmed rebel against my hypocritical mother. I cannot bear to be around the lady who gave birth to me, however weird it sounds to the usua