The Great Noodle Conspiracy: A Domestic Epic in One Packet

The Great Noodle Conspiracy: A Domestic Epic in One Packet

There are wars recorded in the annals of history — the Mahabharata, the Trojan War — and then there are wars that erupt in kitchens over a humble packet of instant noodles.

This, dear reader, is the chronicle of one such epic: The Case of the Missing Nissin Geki.

My son, Akash — a man of intellect, professional acumen and otherwise admirable temperament — had preserved, with almost archaeological care, a packet of Nissin Geki noodles. It lay in the kitchen cupboard like a hidden treasure, awaiting its destined hour of boiling glory.

One fine evening, the treasure vanished.
Not misplaced. Not partially opened. Vanished.
Like the Koh-i-Noor from Indian soil, it was simply… gone.

Akash began his investigation. His eyebrows arched like a seasoned detective from CID. His tone grew analytical. His questions became pointed.
“Pushpa… did you see my Nissin Geki?”

Pushpa, my ever-graceful daughter-in-law, responded with calm innocence, “No. Why would I?”

But suspicion had already entered the room like an uninvited auditor from the Income Tax Department.
Days passed. The inquiry deepened. The cupboard was inspected. The shelves were interrogated. Even Agastya’s toy box was spared no scrutiny. Yet the noodles did not reappear.

And then, one evening, the inevitable happened.
Akash, with mild annoyance fermenting into theatrical accusation, declared,
“You must have eaten it and not told me!”

Pushpa, aghast, protested her innocence.

“I did not! Why would I steal noodles in my own house?”

There they were — two educated, articulate adults — circling around a missing packet of instant noodles as if it were a matter of constitutional amendment.
For a fleeting moment, I feared the United Nations might need to intervene.

What fascinated me was not the disappearance of the noodles — that remains a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes — but the seriousness with which both parties defended their honour. There was logic. There was cross-examination. There was emotional appeal.
All for seventy-odd grams of dehydrated carbohydrates.

Eventually, wisdom prevailed. The case was closed under the clause of “Mysterious Loss Due to Unknown Causes.” Peace was restored. Tea was served. Life resumed.

But I could not stop laughing.
It reminded me how easily the human mind constructs narratives. A missing object becomes a missing moral fibre. A trivial doubt becomes a thesis on betrayal. We are quick to suspect, quicker to defend, and slowest to laugh.

How fragile is our peace — and how inexpensive the cause of its disturbance!
In my 65 years of life — as a Principal, a father, and now a grandfather — I have witnessed boardroom debates less passionate than this noodle inquiry. I have seen institutional conflicts over policies that carried less emotional charge.

And yet, what is life without these harmless comedies?

The truth is, the packet may have slipped behind the shelf. It may have been accidentally discarded. It may have transcended into some culinary heaven.

But what remains is the laughter.

In the end, it was not about noodles.
It was about attachment.
It was about an assumption.
It was about the delightful absurdity of being human.

Let not suspicion boil
Faster than the kettle’s steam,
For many wars begin
Over things that only seem.

A packet lost in shadows
Can darken reason’s sight,
But love, when stirred with humour,
Turns the quarrel into light.

Guard not just your cupboard,
Guard the trust you daily weave—
For noodles may go missing,
But let not hearts take leave.

And if tomorrow something’s lost,
Before conclusions recklessly you seek,
Pause… and smile a little—
It may just be another
Great Noodle Mystery of the Week.