The whistle blower

I have often heard elders appreciate youngsters with a "fire" in them. I am one of those. With a slight difference. I have an innate arsonistic tendency. 


They say there is no smoke without fire, isn't it? I can't express in words as to how thankful I am for that fact. You see, I have been gifted with a nose only for cosmetic purposes, by the almighty, for reasons only He knows best. I cannot catch a whiff of anything unless it is shoved right under my nose within a radius of 10 cms. 


I was once in Bangalore, staying in my mother's friend's house for a brief period. I was a fresh college pass-out, and had landed in the inevitable IT job. I was there for my "KT" period. (For the uninitiated, KT stands for "Knowledge Transition". I learned to my consternation that the only thing that got transitioned was time. There was no knowledge whatsoever to begin with. The wisdom that I managed to draw from my seniors was that nobody knows what they are doing.)


It was a quiet, pleasant morning in Bangalore. I was alone since aunty had left early to work. I was waiting for the auto. Meanwhile, the coffee-paithyam that I am, I strolled into the kitchen and switched on the stove to heat the milk. I then stepped out to look for my ID card - yes, I also spend half my life searching for things. I finally managed to find it and rushed out since I had heard the auto come around. I was beaming ear to ear since I had located my ID card in record time and also remembered to lock the door, AND heard the auto. I was proud of my intuition, astute detective skills and auditory sharpness.


I went to work and promptly paid a visit to the coffee room after dumping my bag in the chair. I called my amma to report my day so far and picked up a cup to get coffee from the vending machine... YES, finally, I remembered the milk on the stove. 


"Ayyayo amma!"


"What did you do now? I thought you were doing fine today. Did you get into some other company's office?"


"No no, milk..stove.." I floundered, aghast and disappointed with my memory, and my nose for not detecting the smell of over-boiled milk.


I quickly called aunty. I began "Aunty...I..." in a panic-stricken voice.


"Yeah yeah, there was a lot of smoke, the watchman noticed and called me. They got in with the spare key that I had given the watchman. I am now at home, clearing the mess." I could sense the note of resignation in aunty's voice. (Huh! This and all I can sense. But not smoky smell.) For the rest of the duration of my stay, I gave up coffee. 


I would like to say that I have been very careful after that incident. That I do pranayam everyday to clear out the access issue in my respiratory system and to improve the smell-sensing algorithm in the nasal module in the nervous sytem(oops! work jargon hang-over!). But. No. 


Amma never lets me boil milk or contribute in any activity that involves active duty in the kitchen for fear that I will, literally, bring down the house. I take care of the peripheral and boring activities like scraping coconut. The most boring job on earth (But it does have perks. One gets to smuggle some shredded coconut every time amma looks away). Peeling the skin off boiled potatoes (I openly demand a certain number of peeled potatoes in return for just peeling the potatoes and not trying to cook them).

My friend Bala, the true friend that he is, made a life changing suggestion to me after numerous such incidences when I did have to boil milk when amma was away from home and I had a craving for coffee. He told me that there is something that will literally blow a whistle when it is time to switch off the stove. The milk cooker. 


But then one day I forgot to fill water in the whistle...