Meena had no hobbies like gardening, knitting, or reading novels. Her true love was collecting dabbas. If an ice cream tub entered the house, it never left. If a biscuit tin came, it stayed forever. Even chutney packets from hotels were carefully washed, dried, and stored in a dabba of their own.
Her husband, Rakesh, was a patient man. But every day, the dabbas tested his limits.
The Great Dabba Attack
One Sunday, Rakesh opened the top kitchen shelf to take down the sugar. The moment he pulled at a lid, thirty-seven dabbas rained down on his head like divine punishment. He stood buried up to his waist, his hair covered in atta dust from a leaky dabba.
“Meenaaaa!” he shouted, his voice muffled inside a large steel container.
Meena rushed in, casually pulled the dabba off his head, and said,
“Oh good, you found the big rice dabba! I’ve been looking for it.”
Rakesh muttered, “I was looking for sugar, not death.”
The Dabba Zoo
One day, Rakesh noticed that the fridge looked like a dabba exhibition. Every shelf was filled. Sambhar, rasam, chutney, pickle, yesterday’s rice, and even two lemon halves were all stored in separate containers.
“Meena,” he groaned, “can we please use plates, at least for food that’s already cooked?”
“Plates? Plates are temporary. Dabbas are forever,” she declared.
Rakesh sighed. Even their pet parrot’s seeds were kept in a labelled dabba: “Parrot—Not For Human Use.”
The Dabba Festival
It got worse during the festival. Every relative sent sweets. Meena not only kept the sweets but also hoarded the dabbas they came in. When Rakesh suggested returning them, she looked shocked.
“Return dabbas? Have you lost your mind? Those dabbas are now part of the family!”
Soon, their cupboards couldn’t close, and dabbas started living on the sofa, under the bed, and even inside Rakesh’s shoe rack.
The Final Straw
The day Rakesh lost his wallet inside a dabba was the day his patience left the room. He had gone mad looking for it. Finally, Meena admitted,
“Oh, I put it in a safe place—in the old rasam dabba.”
When Rakesh opened it, his cards and cash were floating gently in leftover rasam.
That night, Rakesh stood dramatically with folded hands:
“Meena, I beg you. No more dabbas! If another dabba enters this house, I will leave it!”
Meena looked hurt, then shrugged. “Okay. But tomorrow when you want achar with your paratha, don’t come crying to me.”
The next morning, Rakesh opened the fridge. Rows of identical green dabbas stared at him like soldiers. He gave up. He ate his paratha plain, while Meena sipped her tea proudly, polishing her favorite stainless steel dabba as though it were a crown jewel.
Moral of the Story
Some couples fight about money. Some about in-laws. And some… about dabbas.
But here’s the truth:
- To Rakesh, they were junk.
- To Meena, they were treasure.
And in between this comedy, their love continued—sealed tightly, like pickle in a dabba.
Moral: In life, people may collect stamps, coins, or cars. If your spouse collects dabbas, just accept it—because some containers hold food, but some also hold happiness.
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