My dad watches the news obsessively. When we were kids, his routine was clockwork—leaving for work at 7:30 am and coming home by 5:30 pm. His news watching would begin at 6 pm sharply. Once it was finished he would switch channels to watch the 7 pm news and then the finale would be the 9 pm news.Then bed. The only time he would forgo the 7 pm news was when Tomorrows world!
Meanwhile, my mum would be in the kitchen, frantically trying to finish dinner before Neighbours started at 5.30pm. It was her favourite program followed closely by Home and Away. It was a mad dash to heat up the dhal, make some roti, and get everything ready.
Dinner prep was a team effort. I was the roti maker—not because I loved it, but because I was decent at it. Well, “decent” in the sense that I was better than my sister. She had a knack for making the roti paper-thin, then overcooking it on the tava. When she’d slather it in butter and try to fold it, it would snap in half. She would have made a fucking brilliant poppadum maker.
While I rolled and cooked the roti, my sister would cut a salad. My mum would flit around the kitchen like a whirlwind. Grabbing condiments, stirring the subji and dhal, and, of course, adding fresh coriander to everything (yuck!). The opening Neighbours theme tune playing in the background would ramp up her stress levels. She raced to get food on the table so she could finally sit the fuck down. I know how she feels now.
Neighbours was like Marmite in our house. My dad acted like he hated it, always muttering about how rubbish the storylines were. His complaints got louder if there was any kissing, hugging, drug use, or anything remotely controversial. The grumbling would sometimes escalate to a full-blown tirade. My mum would just glare at him, practically daring him to leave the room, the house, or the country.
When my daughter was younger, she spent a lot of time with my mum. One day, after picking her up, she asked me for a kiss as soon as we got home. I gave her one, but she looked absolutely distraught.
“No, not like that!” she said, screwing up her tiny face. “I want you to kiss me like they kiss on Neighbours.”
I froze. What the actual fuck?
I asked her to show me what she meant. She looked me dead in the eye, rolled her little head like I was the slowest person alive. She said, “When you kiss me, you have to hold the back of my head and move your face side to side.”
I panicked, fumbling for a distraction. “How about some chocolate?” I asked, and thankfully, she backed down. Crisis averted. I hope she doesn’t ask anyone else.
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