Eggs-actly what I needed

Life has a peculiar humor; one day, it showers you with sunshine, and the next, it leaves you navigating through a fog of inexplicable sadness. Bad days have an uncanny knack for showing up unannounced, especially when home is just a distant memory, thousands of miles away in the rear-view mirror. On one such day, when the weight of this sudden melancholy settled upon my shoulders, I sought refuge in the comfort of food—because while an existential crisis might not be easily solvable, at least I wouldn't have to face it on an empty stomach.

I got an Omelette and somehow when I received the Omelette in my plate, I gave it a good look. I couldn’t help but smile. I smiled at the chef and thanked her; she smiled back. I suddenly tried to remember all the Omelettes I have had in my life, but only one very special Omelette sprung to my mind. I was about 3 or 4 at that time and let's just say I was a very “curious” child. My curiosity on that special occasion took me to great heights and by that I mean I climbed on top of a wardrobe. I managed to climb down but at the cost of blood (I snubbed my little toe, a great tragedy indeed). I started crying and my mother tried to calm me down the best she could. She played one of the oldest tricks in the book and offered me a “special Omelette” which could supposedly cure even serious injuries (like snubbed toes).She served it sunny side up, an unusual presentation to my then 'vast' culinary experience. My supposed sophistication was outwitted by this simple dish, and I announced to the whole world that I was cured.

As I sat there in the dining hall of my college, thousands of miles from the home where that "cure" was made, the omelette in front of me now seemed like a pale imitation, and my smugness gave way to introspection. Yet, perhaps, this was the universe's way of serving me a gentle reminder—an omelette was, once again, eggs-actly what I needed !