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In a groundbreaking revelation that has left millions reeling, the nation has finally acknowledged its most pressing domestic crisis: mothers making khichdi. Again. Yes, again. In a world plagued by inflation, unemployment, and global unrest, one video has bravely brought attention to the true struggle—being fed the same healthy, wholesome, mushy meal more than once a week.

The viral clip, titled “Mummy made khichdi again?”, has hit the internet like a sack of overcooked lentils. It features a despairing youth, shoulders slumped under the burden of turmeric-flavored monotony, staring into a bowl of khichdi as though it contains his broken dreams. And the internet—brave, unfiltered, and chronically underfed on drama—has relentlessly related.

The comments section is a war zone of culinary grievances:

“Last week she added broccoli to it… I haven’t been the same since.”
“Can someone start a support group for people whose moms own pressure cookers?”
“I faked a stomach ache to escape khichdi and got khichdi anyway.”

Khichdi, once hailed as India’s comfort food, has now been recast as the villain of domestic dining. How dare it be nutritious, easy to digest, cost-effective, and warm? We demand complexity! Crunch! Cheese pulls! Instagrammability! Instead, we’re served a beige bowl of health, garnished with betrayal.

Mothers across the country are reportedly stunned by this backlash. “We thought you liked it,” said one perplexed mom while holding a pressure cooker like a weapon of mass production. “You ate four bowls last time!” And yet, their efforts are now labeled culinary tyranny.

Influencers, not to be left out, have already launched the “Khichdi Challenge,” in which people dramatically weep over their meals while sad violins play in the background. Merch is inevitable. “#NoMoreKhichdi” T-shirts are already in development. Netflix is rumored to be scouting the original video’s star for a gritty limited series: Seasoned With Sorrow.

In the meantime, the rest of us will continue enduring this humble, tasty, protein-packed dish as if we are martyrs of home-cooked horror. Because nothing says “hard life” like a second helping of lentils and rice.

Pray for us. And send takeout.