Our dear friend Maggi has fallen into a large pot of boiling water.

It’s getting cooked for sure and the cooking is going to last a lot longer than 2 minutes.

But the big question is how many people are going to want to eat it?

While some die hard fans are wrestling with the idea, ‘to eat or not to eat’, I thought it would be a good time to write about some personal maggi-cal experiences. (Apparently the noodles are worse than the pun).

Maggi is not just noodles and needs to be eaten with the right kind of reverence.

When a bowl of Maggi appears before you, you need to lower your head over the steam as if you were praying and then inhale its natural goodness. Stick your fork into the slithering wriggles and rotate it to entangle as many slimy fellows as you can. Then raise the fork above your head, arch your head backwards and slowly let the long, golden steaming noodles make their way into your mouth. Alternatively you could stay in revered position and suck the noodles, here your mouth will function as a vacuum, complete with sound-effects.

Both ways are fun, except I once dropped stray gravy in my eye while attempting the arched pose and decided to stick to the revered pose for all future Maggi Meals.

I remember idolizing Maggi as a child. Imagine what visuals of happy children dancing with peas and carrots can do to a little girl’s imagination? I often wondered why my mom didn’t treat my friends to large portions of Maggi? She was a working mother and whenever she was home she would make copious amounts of Dal-Paalak. I loved my Dal-Paalak mom, but I must admit that I did fantasize about the other mom in a yellow sari who made Maggi for a bunch of happy children. I remember asking her to make me a Maggi lunch once. She assured me that it would be a terrible idea, but I insisted and she did the best thing a mother can do for her child – teach them through a bad experience. So I dreamed about my Maggi tiffin the entire morning and darted out with my lunch-bag as soon as the bell rang. When I opened my tiffin, I saw a large, solidified, lumpy mass: no dancing peas, no carrots, no happiness. In fact I remember thinking that it looked like a large brain. I don’t remember ever asking for a Maggi lunch again.

Ever since I heard about the controversy, I cannot stop thinking about the countless Maggi’s that made their way outside India. Stuffed into ‘I’m going abroad for the first time’ suit-cases. Afraid of what they would be served from ominous Videsi kitchens, our Desi Bhai’s played it safe by relying on MSG laden, Maggi. You can hardly blame them, I’m sure the idea came about from one bright spark who later passed on his wisdom to fellow bright sparks.Like most bad ideas this one also went viral. One important reason for flying with all that Maggi was to save the Per day Allowance for bigger, better things.

So basically Super Maggi did manage to save you a few dollars and unnecessary experiences, but try explaining that to your body, that now has to fight the effects of all that Desi goodness.

I’ve played it easy so far, picking stones and hurling it at an already injured and bleeding Maggi. I would be a hypocrite if I did not admit my love for a sizzling bowl of Maggi Magic, specially on a rainy, romantic evening that I didn’t want to waste in the kitchen. It was easier to lose myself to those luscious curls and give in to the ultimate seduction of 2 minutes. Maggi was perfect, she would adapt to anything and anyone, irrespective of what you put into her pan. Besides Idli batter, I’ve added almost anything I could find to my Maggi and it still emerged delicious.

Sigh………I wonder how long it will be before we meet again Maggi? I wonder if they will change you. (Dear God, I hope they do). But until then I’ll hold on to your memories and make-do with some healthy oats.