By Pamela Romail Kenneth
I made roti today. If it’s lawful to call it roti. Actually, they were two so made ‘two roti’. This in itself is a miracle. The third one got killed on the way. In its budding stage, when I was preparing the dough, it got stuck to the rolling board so I had to scrap it off with a knife.
The roti I prepared was crispy, yes, so crispy that my nephew had to burn, more than usual calories, to chew it. But they had the most amazing shapes that no master baker has ever tried preparing. Looking at their shapes, I realised creation could be random.
Sir Isaac Newton, in all his eminence, could not come up with an idea that pouring a lot of oil on the dough and then throwing it on the flour powder could make the dough stick to the rolling board resulting in a motionless state. Yes, I invented the fourth law of ‘motion-lessness.’
I have never been to hell but for the first time, I saw a life, of organic material of course on fire and begging for forgiveness. I felt like a judge in a court listening to the plea of a formerly happy piece of nutritious matter.
In pursuit of saving the remaining nutrients, I turned the roti upside down but alas, the sores on its back had already turned black. I felt like a cruel tyrant but I let the other side face the furry too.
Finally, I had to lift it up and place it in the pot. I closed the lid of the pot and buried the hatchet.
My nephew, either out of courtesy or out of love, ate one of them. The other one was lifted, examined but abandoned by him. It was eventually thrown to live a life of exile in a bin. I must confess I hold myself fully responsible for the fate that it had to face.