Paneer curry and basmati white rice, lounge, plates on laps, June
‘How long do you think turmeric’s been ruining shirts for?’
‘Probably not as long as henna. Or hair oil.’
‘Imagine a combination of the two.’
‘I believe that’s how they make lube.’
‘Wait, really? And they want people to stick that in private places?’
‘I don’t make the rules. I just invent the things. In my head.’
‘You should pitch it.’
‘To who?’
‘Durex? Trojan?’
‘What? That I’ve had an idea for a new Indian men’s lubricant. You take henna, and you take hair oil, mix them together, soak them into the collar of a shirt, wring it out and you’ve got the gloopiest lubricant known to man?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. Anyway, you spilled something on your shirt.’
‘That’s what I was trying to tell you. I spilled turmeric on it and don’t think it’ll come out. Turmeric never comes out. It’s lethal. How many shirts do you think it’s ruined?’
‘Not as many as henna and hair oil combined.’
‘Ahh yes, lube is worse than turmeric. Seriously, though, that’s three shirts I’ve ruined cooking Indian food.’
‘Maybe you should wear a vest, like a creepy man.’
‘That’s exactly what I should do. No one cares if your vest was covered in turmeric stains.’
‘I’d care.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘Still, this paneer’s nice. Although it’s missing something…’
‘Not enough turmeric I think.’
‘Well, most of it did end up on your shirt…’
