Friday, June 22, 2012

My brother big pain. Buttermilk Pound Loaf. Not so much

When we were really-really young, the story goes that, I bullied my brother.
Apparently.
The tales about how 4 year old me would make him cry is something that makes me wonder if it's true.
I definitely doubt it.


And then we grew a little older.
I  think he wanted his revenge, so he yelled at me, beat me, took my things, said I was 'out of the gang' when we played with our cousins and what not.
Revenge which he is enjoying till today. 
He still yells, says he wants to thulp me and I'm sure if he had the chance he would throw me out of our gang of friends, who by the way were initially MY friends.
In a period of one year, every year, we probably don't talk to each other for a total of three months. This is spread over long bouts of days, sometimes a week or a couple of weeks or even a month.
Yes, we live in the same house. And no, we absolutely don't talk.
How?

Imagine a scenario where my mom, brother and I are seated in the drawing room.
Kartik - ''Amma, please tell her to pass me the newspaper''
(Mind you, the newspaper is probably at a distance of 5 feet from him)
Megha - ''Amma, the newspaper is like 5 feet away from him. He can take it himself.''
Mother - walks away.
Oh, she passes him the newspaper before she leaves.
I don't know if this is a universal phenomena, but the love a south Indian woman has for her son is unbounded.


Anyway, so yea, we manage pretty well under the 'no communication cause I hate you' circumstance until something comes along that forces us to become buddies again.
However, he does have a few things going for him like his intelligence, his thoughtfulness on some rare occasions and of course his 'killer' look. 
Yes, that is the 'I will murder you look' which he flaunts quite often. 






Another thing he has going for him is that he does indulge in the things I bake. He usually doesn't say much when he polishes them off. So, when he gives a nice review on any of the baked goodies without me having to hound him, feels like Christmas has come early.
The other day when I made a simple Buttermilk Pound Loaf, I didn't really think he would say anything. It was a good loaf, soft and buttery with a crispy outer layer and the warm smell of vanilla.



He had a slice and said,
'This is nice. Very nice.'
I was pleasantly surprised.
'Better than those crappy red cupcakes'
Early Christmas!

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