My mom loved to cook. And as kids when we were all still staying under the same roof, she made sure she cooked for us every single day. And we loved her cooking. Dinners were special affairs. All of us sat together and ate. There was much animated discussions and laughter and licking of fingers and wolfing down of delicious food. One day, as usual I took my place on the table and reached out for the dinner. And I realized something was wrong. Very, very wrong. The food looked awful. The sabzi was all messed up, the rotis burned, the daal all gooey. Salad was missing. And I thought what in the heavens was wrong with mom. I looked at her, her eyes were down. I got upset. I looked towards dad and he was taking food in his plate as usual. What was he doing?. He was behaving as if nothing was wrong. He even began eating. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was so sure he would be upset with mom too. This dinner was terrible. But he just carried on eating. He even made the usual queries about our day and shared how his day was and all the usual stuff. I really wanted to yell at mom for ruining my dinner, but since dad was all normal and all that I too kept quite. Eventually the dinner was over and I raced away to the bathroom to wash, almost certain that I might barf all it out. However even as Ii raced away I did notice mom reach over to dad and quietly apologize for the bad dinner. Dad just smiled and said that the dinner was just fine. I had no clue why he said that.
Later at night as he came to wish me goodnight I brought his face close to mine and asked him in a whisper why he didn't get upset with mom for spoiling the dinner so badly. He looked into my eyes and gently said, 'Son, a bad meal has never really hurt anybody, but harsh words have killed many a spirit, broken many a hearts.
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