I sometimes call my wife Kungfu Panda—not because she’s a martial artist or cuddly, but because of her undying love for chicken momos (also known as chicken dumplings in some parts of the world). We’ve tried making them at home, guided by YouTube chefs with suspicious confidence. The results? Disasters best left to the imagination.
Whenever we travelled abroad, she was blessed with amazing momos—steamed, juicy, soft-shelled perfection. But India, as always, is a different beast. This country is not for the light-hearted. Every day is a duel with chaos; every day you’re cheated in a new style.
One day, she discovered that Wow! China, a restaurant chain (undoubtedly run by Indians and not the Chinese), serves surprisingly decent momos. She ordered a plate of steamed chicken momos—and got lucky. The momos were good. So naturally, she wanted a second helping.
That’s when India showed up.
“We cannot give another one because it is difficult to make,” the guy at the counter shrugged. “The momos come out torn.”
My wife, persistent as always, said, “Even if it’s deconstructed, I don’t mind.”
The guy caved. A second plate arrived. Unfortunately, our son pounced on it and polished it off.
She went in for a third round. This time, no luck.
“It’s over,” the guy said.
“But I can see more in that container,” she pointed out.
“No madam. That’s only for Swiggy orders.”
Defeated.
But my wife isn’t someone who gives up easily.
Next time we visited the mall, she placed an online order for steamed chicken momos, choosing the “collect at counter” option to bypass the momo gatekeeper.
But this time, the Wow! China app screwed her over. The prices for veg and chicken momos are the same, and the app quietly processed her order as vegetarian momos.
She marched to the counter.
“That happens a lot,” the guy said coolly. “But we can’t give you chicken momos. Different databases.”
“Call customer care if you want.”
She did. Couldn’t get through. Of course.
Defeated again.
She looked at me, eyes full of frustration.
I said, “Pack the veg momos for the ducks. Order again.”
She did. And this time—miraculously—she got two plates of chicken momos.
But this blog isn’t really about a plate of momos.
It’s about the helplessness every Indian goes through—every day, every transaction, every queue, every app, every phone call that never gets picked up. The endless bureaucratic dance and passive resistance you face from systems designed to frustrate you.
And in return, the country demands patriotism?
Fuck you.