Masala Memories & the Maggi That Wasn’t

 

Some memories don’t need a photo. They just need a whiff of something warm — like that unmistakable smell of Maggi.
For me, Maggi isn’t just a snack. It’s a mood. A phase. A mini-movie.

My love story with Maggi has always been a bit… moody. Sometimes, I crave it like it’s the only food that understands me. Other times, I go months without touching it, like we’re taking a silent break from each other. But somehow, it always finds its way back. Like a soft corner in your heart that refuses to close.

The first time Maggi entered our home, I must have been in 3rd or 4th grade. Amma picked up this bright yellow packet from the supermarket — a place I still treat like Disneyland. You walk in for one thing and come out with six types of snacks, a candle, and possibly an identity crisis. But back then, it felt like an achievement. Like I was preparing for a food apocalypse. (Which I clearly wasn’t. Most of it just sat in the cupboard like forgotten dreams.)

Anyway — Amma cooked it, plain and simple. No frills. Just the two-minute Maggi (that obviously took more than two minutes). I didn’t fall in love at first bite. But slowly, it grew on me. What definitely grew faster was my obsession with the masala. I would literally eat half the packet before it even touched the pan. Maggi, but make it underseasoned — because Madam Srishti couldn’t keep her fingers off the masala packet.

Now, there are two very specific Maggi memories that always bring a smile.

The first was my Maggi Chef Debut. I decided to cook it on my own, without reading the instructions. I figured if I added more water, I’d get more Maggi. (I know. I know.) I poured almost 500ml of water into one tiny packet. It became this sad, soupy mess floating in regret. Also — yes — I had already licked half the masala. I couldn’t even pretend it was edible. I threw it away and got a solid scolding from Amma that I still remember word for word.

The second memory is my favorite. Remember Chai Uncle from my "Chai & Me..." post? This one involves him too — sort of. My pedananna (dad's elder brother) and I would often visit their place in the evenings. I usually dozed off on the scooter ride home, and depending on my sleepiness levels, I would either land in my own bed or at pedananna’s — our homes are next to each other on the same floor.

One night, I wanted Maggi. Akka (their daughter) stepped in, and with no masala left (because surprise! I had already eaten it), she turned the plain noodles into Maggi Upma. I am not even kidding — it was heaven. That improvised taste still lingers on my tongue. She had no choice, but somehow made magic.

Fast forward to a few years ago — my closest friend made Maggi at my place, her way. She sautéed garlic, onions, tomatoes, added mustard seeds, cumin, chopped veggies… and then the noodles. That one bowl changed everything. It was spicy, tangy, a little mushy, and perfect. Now, I recreate her version often — minus the onions (they don’t sit well with me in Maggi).

And when I do, I go all out — Maggi with fries, chips, or whatever else screams high cholesterol and happiness. Because sometimes, healing looks like a bowl of soupy noodles, stolen spice packets, and a memory that makes you laugh mid-bite.

Maggi, for me, is never just about the taste.
It’s sleepy scooter rides.
It’s masala on my fingers.
It’s Akka’s quick fix and Amma’s slow scolding.
It’s me, growing up between spice packets and soupy experiments.

And somewhere in between all that mess… is a memory I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Ingredients:

• 1 packet Maggi noodles (dry, uncooked)

• 1 ½ tsp oil

• ½ tsp cumin seeds

• ½ tsp mustard seeds

• 1 tsp urad dal

• 1 tsp chana dal

• A few curry leaves

• 2 green chillies, slit

• A pinch of hing (asafoetida)

• 150 ml (about half a glass) water

• Salt to taste

Instructions:

1. Heat the oil in a pan over medium heat.

2. Add the cumin seeds, mustard seeds, urad dal, chana dal, curry leaves, slit green chillies, and a pinch of hing. Roast everything gently until the dals turn golden and the spices release their aroma — just a minute or two.

3. Pour in the water and bring it to a good boil.

4. Add salt to taste.

5. Break the dry Maggi noodles into smaller pieces and add them to the boiling water and tadka mix.

6. Stir well so the noodles soak up the flavors.

7. Let it cook on medium-low heat for about 10 minutes until the noodles are soft and all the water is absorbed, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking.

8. Once done, turn off the heat and serve happily — hot, comforting, and simple.

Srishti’s Secret Tip for the Perfect Maggi Upma:

The magic is in the tadka — take your time roasting the spices and dals just right. This little step fills the kitchen with that cozy aroma that feels like home even before you taste it. And don’t rush the noodles; slow cooking them in the flavorful water helps the spices really sink in, turning plain Maggi into something much more soulful.

Srishti’s Healing Tip for the Perfect Plate:

Food isn’t just about feeding the body — it’s a moment to pause, breathe, and feel grounded. When you make this Maggi Upma, take a second to notice the gentle sizzle, the warmth of the pan, the subtle spice in the air. Eating it slowly, with gratitude, turns a simple snack into a small act of self-love and healing.

Why You’ll Love This:

Because it’s more than just quick Maggi — it’s a comforting hug in a bowl.
It’s the kind of dish that’s simple to make but full of flavor and heart.
Perfect for when you want something easy but still want to feel cared for.
It’s the taste of creativity, nostalgia, and a little bit of kitchen magic all rolled into one.