Opinion Growing up with Maggi

Being told as a child that you can’t do something cements in your head the idea that it must be done. Add to that Maggi’s irresistible spicy-sweet taste, and you have a sure-shot formula for disobedience. I would eat Maggi at friends’ houses, away from my grandmother’s sharp nose that prevented me from making it secretly at home. I would even eat the cold, frozen tiffin Maggi that
my classmates turned their noses up at, the snobs.

Finally, I managed to convince the materfamilias that Maggi was not, in fact, the creation of the devil, and wrangled out a once-a-week compromise. The negotiations that resulted in that compromise would have put world leaders to shame!

Over the years, my Maggi addiction died out (because of my grandmother’s insistence on adding vegetables. “The advertisement has vegetables, too”, was her firm defence). It became an item that was bought and consumed sporadically. But then, my younger sister discovered it. By this time, I was old enough to go to the local store, buy my own Maggi (the extent of my financial independence) and then come home and make it myself (the extent of my culinary skills). This was made possible by a combination of factors: An older, not so active, grandmother and a younger sister who played the obliging spy in exchange for half a portion of those delectable noodles.

And so Maggi became a shared ritual for my sister, Gayatri, and me. Most people take advantage of summer holidays by staying up late and watching television, or reading. Gayatri and I would stay up to eat Maggi. There was something about waiting for everyone to fall asleep before taking out the contraband packets, and needing to turn on the exhaust fan to get rid of the smell, that made that Maggi taste even better.

Then came college, with an alarming lack of rules to limit my consumption of this hitherto taboo delicacy. I could just buy and eat Maggi from the canteen whenever I wanted, and no one would stop me? That didn’t seem right. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Apparently, it was. And I rejoiced. I ate Maggi all the time. When I reached college in the morning, when I took a break before lunch, for lunch, and then once after. It got to the point where the canteen staff served me a plate whenever they saw me coming. Add to this the ease of buying it at debate competitions (where food is scarce and hot food a treasure), the relative speed at which it was served and how little it hurt the pocket, even on my budget. I was practically living on Maggi. It was this very accessibility that took me from loving Maggi to not caring either way. Too much of a good thing and all that.

Maggi was comfort food for many of us. We’ve eaten it growing up, of course. And because it’s so easy to make, most stories about camping or going on a road trip will involve some version of Maggi. Now it’s off the shelves. Which, given what’s being said about its contents, is probably a good thing. But even if there is, in fact, too much lead or MSG in it, I will have fond memories of Maggi for a long time to come.

The writer studies history at Gargi college, Delhi University