A Comedy of Errors

In the bustling town of Trichy under the shade of the mighty Srirangam Temple, lived a man named Velu. Velu was an ordinary man running a tea shop in a busy street famous for his perfectly brewed filter kaapi. Everyone knew Velu’s shop as the “Velu’s Coffee Spot,” where the gossip was hot and the coffee was hotter.

But Velu had one secret. One unbreakable rule he was sworn to obey since childhood.

The Rule: Never ever touch his mother’s mysterious pickle jar.

This wasn’t just any pickle jar. It was a sacred family heirloom, passed down generations, filled with a secret pickle recipe that could reportedly bring happiness, luck, and... well, chaos if touched wrongly.

Velu’s mother Anandi was a strict but loving woman who believed that the pickle jar was the key to the family’s fortune. Every Sunday, she’d proudly display it on the kitchen shelf, wrapped in a bright yellow silk cloth and say, “That jar is our treasure! No one must touch it but me!” Velu obeyed this rule religiously.

The Day It Happened

It was a hot summer afternoon. The streets were buzzing with festival preparations for Pongal and Velu was busy serving his regular customers: the local mechanic Raju, the school teacher Seetha, and the always hungry office clerk Murugan. Amidst the chaos Anandi was out shopping, leaving Velu alone in the house with strict instructions: Don’t touch the pickle jar.

But fate had other plans. Velu’s cousin Balu - the notorious prankster had come from Chennai. Balu loved to break rules and this was his only mission.

“Velu,” Balu whispered, “I bet you can’t open amma’s pickle jar. I dare you.”

Velu hesitated. “No, no... amma has warned me not to touch it.”

“Oh come on! Just once. It’s just a pickle jar,” Balu said, flashing his mischievous grin.

Velu’s curiosity got the better of him. He tiptoed into the kitchen, eyes darting around as if the jar would explode if caught. The yellow silk cloth covered the jar like a royal crown. His hands trembled as he reached for it. Just then, his phone buzzed. He looked down. A message from amma:
“Buy extra jaggery for Pongal. And don’t touch the pickle jar!”

Velu chuckled nervously. He peeled off the cloth, and the jar glistened under the kitchen light. The pickle inside was a fiery red color, smelling spicy and tangy. With a quick glance, Velu unscrewed the lid.

As soon as the lid popped open, a loud “POOF” sound burst out, and a cloud of red powder exploded into the air. Velu coughed, waved his hand frantically, but the powder was everywhere.

Then the house phone started ringing wildly. The ringtone was “Why This Kolaveri Di,” but played in a reverse loop, making everyone cringe. Velu, coughing and sneezing. Suddenly, a deep voice boomed from the kitchen radio which had turned on by itself.

“Who dares disturb the sacred pickle jar?”

Velu dropped the jar, which bounced on the floor but didn’t break. Instead, a small, glowing figure appeared before him a tiny pickle spirit, wearing a tiny veshti (white dhoti) and with a fierce mustache.

Meet Oorugai: The Pickle Spirit

“I am Oorugai, guardian of the sacred pickle jar!” the spirit announced dramatically.

Velu blinked. “What? Pickle spirit? Are you joking?”

“No joke! You broke the one unbreakable rule. Now you must face the consequences,” Oorugai said, crossing his tiny arms.

Velu’s mind raced. “Consequences? Like what?”

Oorugai smirked. “You must eat one spoonful of every pickle in the town’s market... without drinking water. And if you fail, you’ll be cursed with eternal hunger... for dosa!”

Velu gulped. “Eternal hunger for dosa? That’s... that’s terrible.”

“Exactly. You will crave dosa but never be able to eat it! Your taste buds will revolt,”

Velu looked at the spirit, then the jar. This was getting crazier by the minute.

“Wait! Can I undo this?” Velu asked hopefully.

Oorugai shook his head. “Only one way out: The Pickle Challenge.”

The Pickle Challenge 

Word spread fast in Madurai. By the evening, a crowd gathered outside Velu’s tea shop.

Raju the mechanic brought a massive tray of aavakai (mango) pickle, Seetha the teacher brought her homemade kaduvu mangai (tender mango) pickle, and Murugan the clerk arrived with poondu (spicy garlic) pickle.

Velu looked at the mountains of pickle jars in front of him. He wiped sweat from his brow and braced himself.

“Let the challenge begin!” Oorugai declared.

Velu dipped his spoon into the aavakai (mango) pickle. One bite and his face turned red as a tomato; spice in the pickle hit him.

“Water! Water!” he cried, but Oorugai shook his head firmly.

Next was the kaduvu mangai pickle. Velu’s lips puckered and the crowd burst into laughter.

By the time he reached the fiery garlic pickle, tears streamed down his face. The spice was so intense, his tea shop customers thought he was performing some kind of comedy act.

Seetha handed him a jar of homemade chutney pickle, saying, “Try this, Velu. It’s mild.”

Velu smiled weakly, took a spoonful — and immediately felt like he was breathing fire. Turns out, Seetha’s “mild” was a secret code for ultra-spicy as it was made of green chillies and garlic.

The Unexpected Savior

Just when Velu thought he couldn’t take any more, Balu stepped forward.

“Wait! I have an idea,” Balu said, pulling out a packet of buttermilk. “What if we mix the buttermilk with the pickle? It’ll neutralize the spice.”

Oorugai frowned. “No drinking water or liquids allowed!”

“But buttermilk isn’t water,” Balu argued, holding the packet up like a trophy.

Velu looked hopeful and took a sip. The buttermilk cooled his mouth instantly.

Oorugai huffed. “Fine, but only because you’re family.”

With Balu’s help, Velu survived the Pickle Challenge. The crowd cheered as Oorugai vanished back into the jar.

Anandi returned to find Velu sitting amidst empty pickle jars, his face red but triumphant.

“What happened here?” she asked.

Velu smiled. “I broke the rule, Amma. But I learned something important.”

“And what’s that?” Amma raised an eyebrow.

“Don't underestimate the power of buttermilk,” Velu said with a grin.


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