Chapter 3: The Samosa Chronicles
The wedding was officially spiraling into a comedy of errors. Niki and Niha had managed to avoid a full-blown disaster with Chacha, but now the kitchen was in turmoil. The kitchen staff had somehow managed to misplace an entire tray of samosas, and Aunt Meena was threatening to unleash her wrath on whoever was responsible.
The air was thick with the scent of ghee and misplaced panic. Niki and Niha stood at the entrance of the kitchen, cautiously eyeing the chaos inside.
“Okay, this is officially the worst wedding I’ve ever been to,” Niki muttered under his breath. “And that’s saying a lot—remember last year’s roti-on-fire incident?”
“Focus, Niki. We need to figure out where the samosas went,” Niha snapped, flipping through her notes. “Samosas aren’t just any wedding snack. They’re sacred. The bride will never forgive us if she doesn’t get her samosas.”
Niki rolled his eyes. “Sacred? It’s fried dough with potatoes in it, Niha. We’re not trying to solve world peace here.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. These are the samosas of destiny.” Niha gave him a pointed look. “We need to find the samosas before Aunt Meena finds out.”
Niki raised an eyebrow. “Or before she starts throwing whatever’s within her reach. I’m not saying it’ll be pretty, but we could probably make a good guess.”
“Just get in there, detective,” Niha muttered, pushing him toward the kitchen.
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The Samosa Search
The kitchen was a war zone. Pots clanged, staff members scurried around like headless chickens, and somewhere in the background, an unfortunate cook was being lectured by Aunt Meena about “being more efficient.”
Niki sidled up to a flustered-looking waiter, who was frantically searching through a stack of chafing dishes.
“Uh, excuse me,” Niki said, trying to sound casual, “do you know where the samosas went?”
The waiter blinked at him, clearly confused. “Samosas? They… they went out with the last round of appetizers, sir.”
Niki paused. “The last round? So you’re telling me that the samosas are gone?”
The waiter looked like he might faint. “Sir, if Aunty Meena finds out, I’ll be disowned!”
Niki nodded seriously. “I understand. But you see, we’re not just dealing with missing samosas. We’re dealing with a wedding catastrophe. If we don’t find those samosas—” He glanced around dramatically, lowering his voice to a whisper—“we might not make it out alive.”
The waiter’s face went pale. “Oh no. Please, sir, help us!”
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The Samosa Whisperer
Niha, who had been scouring the other side of the kitchen, suddenly waved Niki over.
“Niki, I found it!” she yelled, like she had discovered the Holy Grail.
Niki rushed over, nearly tripping over a stray tea kettle. “What? The samosas?”
“Not just the samosas,” Niha said, holding up a half-eaten samosa triumphantly. “The source of the missing samosas.”
“Wait, what? How is this one samosa the source of the missing samosas?” Niki asked, completely lost.
Niha grinned. “This samosa has a clue. Look at the filling.”
Niki squinted. “Uh, it’s potato and peas. You lost me.”
“No, no, look closer,” Niha insisted, pointing to a tiny fleck of green. “This is cilantro. But this is no ordinary cilantro, Niki. This is the cilantro from Aunt Meena’s private stash.”
Niki blinked. “Aunt Meena has a private stash of cilantro? What’s next, a black market for cumin?”
“No, no, listen. Aunt Meena has a secret recipe for her ‘super-samosas.’ She only gives them to special guests,” Niha explained, her eyes gleaming. “Whoever stole the samosas had to have known about that stash.”
Niki paused, trying to process. “So you’re saying… someone inside the family stole the samosas to impress Aunt Meena?”
Niha nodded, her voice low and serious. “Exactly.”
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Aunt Meena’s Wrath
Suddenly, Aunt Meena’s booming voice cut through the air like a foghorn.
“WHERE ARE MY SAMOSAS?!” she bellowed. “WHO DO I HAVE TO THROW OUT TO GET SOME FRESH SAMOSAS HERE?!”
Niki and Niha exchanged a quick glance. They had to act fast.
“I’ll take the blame,” Niki whispered, trying to leave the kitchen. “I’m the one who accidentally ordered an extra round of samosas from the wrong caterer. No biggie.”
Niha grabbed him by the arm. “No, Niki. We’re solving this together.”
Before Niki could protest, the kitchen door burst open, and Aunt Meena stormed in, eyes blazing.
“Niki, Niha—you two—I want answers. NOW!” she yelled, hands on her hips. “Who took my samosas?!”
Niha raised a hand dramatically. “Aunt Meena, we believe the culprit is someone close to you—a relative who knows your secret samosa stash.”
Aunt Meena’s eyes widened. “My stash? But that’s... that’s classified! How did you—”
“Ah, it was the cilantro,” Niki said, smugly pulling out the half-eaten samosa. “The cilantro gave it away.”
Aunt Meena’s eyes shifted, narrowing. “You two are the detectives now, huh?”
“Yes, we are,” Niha said proudly, giving Niki a high five.
Aunt Meena paused, then smirked. “Fine. You solved the samosa mystery. But let me tell you—if this wedding turns into a complete disaster, you’re both getting the blame.”
“Deal,” Niki said, raising an eyebrow. “But we’re still looking for the necklace, so—”
Aunt Meena pointed a finger at them. “You’ll need more than samosas to survive that one.”
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To be continued
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