Brinjal not in my kitchen anymore

Gone were those innocent days when my grand mother
took great care to prepare spicy brinjal in deep fry,
stuffed by spicy coconut and dals pounded by her deft hands,
oil oozing out of the fried brinjal in fresh shining bowl
would my grandmother serve with affection and care,
chide me if I put my fingers into my mouth for full taste,
those were my innocent days when little did I realize,
if sufficient fried brinjal was left for her in the pan,
when she had fever one day my pride experimented
the brinjal in her well set kitchen, agog I began,
a sharp knife to cut the spongy brinjal into pieces,
first cut was the worst hit to my pride, for the sleek
knife cut not the vegetable but the wriggling worms inside,
it was an eyesore to me and I felt the worms inside my stomach
teasing my experiment, and vomiting sensation forthwith
my fingers nervous became and I held the brinjal by the tail
with a shriek, out I Came and threw it into the bin,
my grand mother in feeble voice queried, if the deep fry was
over.
I replied that the pan was dry for there was no oil to fry,
the glass container fell to the ground and broke
never again would I dare to relish the brinjal,
gone were those innocent days when my grandmother
took care to prepare spicy brinjal in deep fry.