Strawberry Synthesis Essay

1471 Words3 Pages

Last winter, we began the weekly strawberries-dipped- in-Nutella ritual. Imperceptibly, gradually, and inevitably (the use of the last adjective would make sense if you were well acquainted with the Trivedi Sisters), the Nutella to strawberries ratio increased, eventuating in the former taking the place of the primary flavour, the fruit reduced to a spoonesque necessity- aakhir Nutella nikaalenge kaise? (Perhaps hyperbolic, but the ratio was remarkably skewed). The following is an account from early 2015- the time we began to run out of both strawberries and Nutella at an alarming rate (and the less-than-honest things we did out of desperation). The Division- Berry by Berry/Veil of Ignorance It was only this winter that we realised that each …show more content…

‘Mom, think about it, it only makes sense.’ She expressed concern about our choice area of mental occupation, the fast-increasing amount of chocolate we were consuming, and our inattentiveness to the rise in strawberry prices as compared to last year. We responded with convincing arguments and high-pitched, drawn-out, repeated utterances of the magic word- pleeeeease. (Primarily the latter). She relented. Her softening only prompted us to present our case for the ‘Four Jars a Month’ model in quick succession, lest she regain her ability to refuse us before the dotted line had been signed. We won. Addiction Is Slavery We tried watching TV. We tried eating nachos. We tried having political discussions. To no avail. We execrated the driving force behind the strawberry price inflation. We cast maledictions on the cantankerous grocery store owner who didn’t stock Nutella. Nothing …show more content…

‘The strawberries are sour,’ she said placidly, continuing her chewing mechanically. I was reminded of the tale of the fox and the grapes. With a sigh of resignation (although the faintest glimmer of hope obstinately remained) I put the fruit in my mouth. Gnashed my teeth together. Echoed, ‘The strawberries are sour.’ I laugh to think of how must have looked as we sat there, making our laborious way through four boxes of the fruit that had fallen from grace. We were probably reminiscent of forlorn cows, perfunctorily chewing their cud whilst ruminating (pun intended) matters of profound sadness. The flickering TV screen told us to buy Horlicks. Tried to convince us to switch to a different brand of sanitary napkins. Screamed that mummies (mothers, that is) were the best thing to have happened to humankind (second to sliced bread, of course). Promised us cheaper internet if we changed our network. Solemnly informed us about the perils of not habitually having a particular antacid. Come evening, mom returned from work with a surprise. Strawberries. We shrugged noncommittally as she gleefully brandished the packet in our

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