In her spare time, she is the official family travel agent for guilt trips.
One day 5 year old me was pretty disgruntled as to why I wasn't allowed to eat the same things as my dad.
Of course just like you, I assumed she would be accepting with my dad being a full on carnivore and all.
TBH she kinda was and gleefully went to me, "Of course beta (son), you can eat as much as meat you want."
I was 5 years old, I could barely fucking make sense of English words and she fucking wanted me to read #Sanskrit
I was 5 fucking years old and this is not even the tip of the trauma. I start bawling and look at her with incredulity, tears streaming down my ashen face, trembling.
"No, ma. What? How?" I whimper.
I WAS FIVE FUCKING YEARS OLD. Of course I went to my bedroom, wowing never to eat meat.
From that day, whenever she saw an animal, she would point at it and ask me if I want to eat it & do that horrible neck slit theatrical action.
Whether it was on TV or in real life, whether it was a cartoon or a the news, as long as there was an animal, neck slit.
It took me some time to explain but he finally understood, I wanted to slaughter this chicken that fateful Monday.
I expected this to be a little out of my comfort zone, so I had done what most people would do; smoked a fat fucking mother of a joint before I walked to the back of the kitchen.
I slammed it on the table, grabbed the cleaver and chopped it heads off...
"SQUAAAAAAK" this time it was me, because no one had warned me the headless chicken thing was not a lie.
Muthama slammed a bucket on the chicken and all is well with the world. EXCEPT THE DEAD CHICKENS HEAD IN MY FUCKING HAND.....
As you may have guessed it, my mum stared at me with her questioning guilt inducing eyes.
This time, it was my turn to look her dead in the eye and I went...