My Favourite Food

You can look at me and tell that I love to eat! I’m not fat, by no means, but I do love
to eat! My favourite meal is breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Ha! Ha! Yes! I love them all!

Most of us have a number of favourite foods that we turn to from time to time, and
I’ve found that they can be occasion or symptom-specific, but for I think that I have one
overriding favourite food that always makes me feel good:  toasted cheese sandwiches, made
with sharp cheddar, and tomato soup.  This will always be quintessential lunch food for me. 

I have been reaching into my food memories a lot, recently.  I find myself rooting
through the recipe box that was my mother's, and occasionally having to call my sister to see
if she has a copy of a recipe that I might not have even thought of in years, but suddenly
seems very important.  There is, in fact, an Apam Cake cooling on a rack in my kitchen right
now, playing with my senses and tweaking my memories.  This was one of the recipes that I
learned to bake with, gamely throttling the dough with a hand-held mixer at the tender age of
nine or ten, proud as a world-class chef with the squares of spiced currant goodness
regardless of how well it did or didn't rise.  For recipes like these, it isn't only the smells that
are evocative, the process of making it can catapult you backward in time until you are
standing in your mother's kitchen, holding her best mixing spoon and fumbling through the
cupboards that hold the ingredients that you will need.  It's like magic.

The classic idea of “like mother used to make” is rooted more in a sense of familiarity
and our blessedly imperfect memories of being loved than it is any particular intrinsic
properties of the dish. This is not to say that only cherished childhood foods can evoke a
sense of comfort, or that we cease to accumulate new comfort foods as we get older.  As long
as we are eating new and different things, we acquire new favourites that make it into our
regular rotation just as surely as if we had grown up on them. 

As you can tell, I really do love all types of food. I have a broad spectrum of foods
like. Well, now that I’ve made us all hungry it is time to go!
The Telephone

Since its inception, the telephone has become one of the most important inventions of
all time.   Although some were sceptical about its replacement over telegrams, in the end the
advent of this fine communication equipment has won the hearts of many.   As a matter of
fact, the telephone system had come to numerous facelifts that it literally connected the world
before the internet was born.   Because of its importance, homes and businesses can not live
without it. In its primitive days, the telephone was all but cumbersome.   It means when
someone was to make a call, the caller had to go through an operator to connect the caller to
another party.   The telephone was also better at receiving than transmitting.

The telephone itself is a rather simple appliance. A microphone (called

the transmitter) and an earphone (called the receiver) are contained in the
handset. The microphone converts speech into its direct electrical analogue, which
is transmitted as an electrical signal; the earphone converts received
electrical signals back to sound. The switch hook determines whether current
flows to the telephone, thereby signalling the central office that the telephone
is in use. The ringer responds to a signal sent by the central office that
causes the telephone to ring. As simple a device as the telephone, had a
mighty big impact on society during the 30's. This was due to the fact that, it
was during the 30's when telephone service became economically feasible and also
reliable.

Men and women alike were captivated by the intrigue and fascination of
talking to relatives and friends, miles and miles away. Not only did the
telephone pamper to individual woes, but it provided a very useful industrial
service. It allows commercial companies to expand their horizons infinitely
easier than ever before. It became possible to set up meetings and discuss
business matters with partners thousands of miles away. Companies that possessed
a telephone had a enormous advantage over the rest. And in a time as
economically troubled as the 30's depression, everyone was looking for a
competitive edge.
 The telephone wasn't invented in the thirties, nor was the first
transatlantic line built then, but the thirties represents a time in history
when the world was changing incredible fast and much of that change was made
possible by the the telephone. Without the telephone, progress would have been
much slower and people might not have been so receptive to change. We owe a
great deal to Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone, for his
invention has served mankind well and will continue to offer society a valuable
service for years to come.
Holiday

It was the wettest December I had ever experienced. The torrential rains had ruined
my holiday plans as floods continued to wreak havoc in several states. I had pleaded with dad
to allow me to go to the east coast with my friends but he had been unyielding. The thought
of having to stay indoors for the next two weeks was not only depressing but also unbearable.
Television did not excite me anymore. I was fed up of watching the same old movies on cable
television. Even the other channels had nothing exciting to offer. Finally, I decided to go into
the attic to retrieve some books which I had not read for a long time.

The attic was surprisingly clean - a sign that mum had finally completed the chore
that she had kept putting off. I looked around and noticed a teak chest that I had never seen
before. Curiosity got the better of me and I walked towards it. I lifted the lid slowly and was
pleasantly surprised to see a variety of things in it – all of them reminders of my childhood. I
looked nostalgically at the clothes I had worn as a child and the toys I had played with.
‘Bobo’ the teddy bear, which I had slept with until I was ten, had been dry-cleaned and kept
in a box which also contained the first Mother’s Day card, I had made by myself. I was not
prepared for what I saw next.

Lying at the bottom of the cardboard box was an old black and white photograph of a
young woman. I stared at it incredulously. It was as if I was looking at a female version of
myself. All sorts of questions and dreadful thoughts flooded my mind. I held the photograph
tightly in my hand and dashed out of the attic, only to bump into my mother. “Mum....who is
this?” I asked in a quivering voice. From the look on her face, I knew it was a question she
did not want to answer. Quietly, she held my hand and led me towards the study where dad
had been working all morning. She knocked on the door once before opening it. Dad looked
up, and his expression of annoyance disappeared when he saw the photograph in my hand.

What I heard that day is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. The
woman in the photograph was my mother, my biological mother — Lily Lee. “Son, Lily
loved you very much; just as much as Janet here loves you.” Dad’s use of the past tense made
me uncomfortable. It took a great deal of effort on his part to narrate the painful past.
 My biological mother was six months pregnant when the incident happened. She had
been walking towards her office when a motorcyclist came from behind and grabbed her
handbag before speeding off. As a result of the sudden assault, she had lost her balance and
fallen on the kerb. The head injuries she had sustained had a devastating effect on her health.
The only option was to perform surgery, but due to her condition, this option was risky. The
doctors had wanted to terminate her pregnancy to save her life but she had refused. A month
later she fell into a coma. Although the doctors had given up hope, Lily continued to live,
though in a comatose state. It was as if she was not giving up on life till her baby was born.
When the doctors deemed it safe, they performed an emergency C-section. Lily breathed her
last the moment I was born into this world.

Dad sobbed softly as he finished relating the heart-wrenching story. All sorts of
emotions consumed me. I was sad, confused and angry. Was I adopted? What about my
father? Who was he? Had he abandoned me? After a while, I braved myself and stated what I
thought was obvious. “So, that means you are not my real parents. I am adopted!” “No, son.
You are not adopted. I am your father. Lily was my first wife. She made me promise her that
I would marry her younger sister, Janet, so that you would not grow up motherless.”

The sense of relief that I felt at that moment was indescribable. I looked at mum and I
saw the pain and anguish in her eyes, as though she was anticipating rejection. Quickly, she
looked down. Slowly, I got up from my chair and walked towards her. I went down on my
knees and held her hands in mine. Her eyes remained downcast, fearful of rejection.

“Mum, I know I am only seventeen but I am more mature than you think. You might
not have given birth to me but you are and will always be my mother.” I comforted her as
much as I comforted myself. She looked up slowly, her eyes searching my face for sincerity.
Then with tears in her eyes, she hugged me tightly.