So before I delve into this story, let me lay down some facts for you. Facts that would make any sensible person run for the hills. But at 21, being sensible is the least of our concerns. We were young, adrenaline-crazed and out to make memories that would stain the city even after we were sixty.
Bhoot Jolokia or Ghost Chillis won the Guinness book of records in 2007, for being the spiciest chilly in the world, about 400 times hotter than your Tobasco sauce. These vibrant chillies sourced from Nagaland is just over 1 million Scoville units of heat. No big deal right?
So a couple of days back, during an accounting class, A looked at us and emphatically declared, “We should go to Bamey’s and do the spicy momo challenge”. I had never heard of this restaurant, but it piqued my interest as momos and spice were something I always craved for. I am the kind of person who could give up desserts for some spicy wings and momos doused in spicy sauce. When I am having a bad day, I treat myself to some spice and it has always calmed me down.
I can boldly say that my spice tolerance is higher than the average tolerance of my Indian people. I often wonder if Indians enjoying spicy food was a flawed stereotype because about 80% of friends couldn’t handle an iota of it. In haste, L and I agreed to A’s plan, cause why not?
As the day approached, I began doing some soul searching of whether this was actually a good idea, because someone told me that this was the spiciest challenge in the city. I wasn’t so sure anymore. I thought I could handle all the spice in the world and I remembered trying the ABS (Ass Burning Spice) wings from Plan B. I had tried just one of them, and there was no taste, just the burn that ran a few layers deep into my naked tongue. I sheepishly gave up the title of being the Spice God.
A, L and I went through urges of chickening out, but one of us would rescue the other saying, “It’s not about winning the challenge, it is about the experience”. Six other of our friends, sensibly told us that they would be there cheering us on. We pictured that scene in our heads and everything made sense. WE WERE GOING TO DO THE BHOOT JOLOKIA SPICY MOMO CHALLENGE.
Fast forward to the evening before the day of the actual challenge. I didn’t have the guts to go through with it. I realised that we had to pre-book our spicy momo session and since there wasn’t any talk about it, I made it a point to not remind anybody about it. I stayed clear of all groups that could spark any conversation of the challenge the next day. In the meantime, a lot of other people kept spewing stories of how they had one or two of these chillies and had to take a week off due to internal bleeding. Some others spoke about how people who tried this challenge puked and pooped themselves at the same time.
The day of the challenge, I cautiously text A, asking if she has pre-booked our diarrhoea session, hoping she has not. She says she has everything sorted. Well, I decided to go on a googling rampage to augment all the tips needed to survive a spicy challenge. One hour later, I am sweating because Ghost peppers were not a joke and I wanted to live a little longer.
We ignored the fact that we had to come back to class for the last two hours. There wasn’t any use waiting now, we hurriedly bought a few packets of milk, paper cups and vanilla milkshakes and made our journey in three autos. Arriving there, the place was really pretty with light wood floors and furniture and occasional pops of colour with the wall hangings.
The rest of our friends went on ordering all kinds of momo platters, noodles and starters while we were brought a form to fill out. “I am willing to participate in the spicy momo challenge and not hold the restaurant responsible for any mishaps, medical or otherwise” is what the form said. WE SIGNED IT, with shaking hands admittedly. The form happily included sensory overload, gastrointestinal irritation and cardiac arrest as its dangers.
We were starved by this point and ushered to another table. We were given instructions. There would only be one glass of water and they said they would graciously give us unlimited tissues. They would also supply a small bowl of honey and curd to ease the afterburn. The only condition was that tasting either the curd or honey meant that we had accepted defeat. Then they wouldn’t have to supply us with free momos for 100 days, if we had won the challenge. And all this had to be done within ten minutes.
I had done my homework and watched how the contestants that actually won approached the challenge. I wasn’t mentally prepared for what came my way. It was a steaming brazen pot of momos submerged completely in red gravy, with yellow capsicum cubes breaking the diabolic colour. The workers at the restaurant came up to our table and placed a timer, while another pulled out his camera to videograph this process. Our friends surrounded us and began a low cheer. I decided to go all-in, so I pulled out my headphones and turned on some music I would otherwise never listen to. I was listening to some good ol Snoop Dogg, Lil Wayne and Eminem spit some hardcore verbal fire. Could it match up to the flaming hot and equally spicy gravy of wrath placed before us? We were just about to find out.
I turned up the music and dove straight into the spicy gravy with a fork and a knife. I brought a steaming momo out from its gravy bath and sliced it in half. There was that spicy gravy inside as well. That was the moment I remembered that none of the YouTubers who tried the same challenge had a gravy component to it. The momos they ordered looked spicy but it was dry. “They must have amped up their game this time”, screamed my inner monologue. I put it in my mouth, the heat seared my tongue before the spice and I had no choice but to swallow.
Three momos down, my esophagus burned and in the meantime A was enjoying her cup of curd after eating one momo. L and I tried to keep going. 6 momos down my eyes were watering and the burn was eating away my stomach’s inner lining. The music urged me on. By this time L had given up at a solid 4 momos. I was their only saving grace so I kept going on at even 8 momos. At this point, I was sweating from every inch of my body, kajal streaked tears streaming down my face and I donated my tongue to the pits of hell. At the 9th momo, my stomach shrivelled up and threatened to empty out its contents. I ran to the washroom, knelt down and did what was necessary.
It was at that point that all the pain I had previously blocked out came and consumed me at once. I could hear a distant ringing in my ears, my face was flushed and I was gagging on the spice I had so happily ingested. I think 9 momos was a good shot but the challenge had clearly indicated that one had to completely finish the gravy and the vegetable pieces as well, so there was no point trying to go further.
The three of us took turns drinking a combination of milk, honey, and curd without even realising what was what. We somehow got back to college in one piece, slightly late for the next class. We continued to drink paper cups of room temperature milk to douse the fire that had reached a cellular level.
By the last hour, I found that A was missing. In a matter of ten minutes, L was nowhere to be found as well. This was the time that the pain rushed back in waves I couldn’t handle and I rushed to the washroom to escape the heat. I found A and L bent over the porcelain sinks, complaining about how the burn really burrrrrneeddd. I heard my lips confess aloud to the pain I was feeling too. At one point, the three of us were rolling on the floor, laughing and crying at the same time exclaiming, “We are supposed to be masters students and look at our IQ levels.” Just fantabulous.
Was it worth it at the end of the day? No then. Yes now. We always have something to laugh about. The memories didn’t stain any city but have been burned into our bodies, in ways we can’t even explain. But it is all good. I bet we will be talking about this even when we are old, grey and hopefully wise. But right now, life is all about making mistakes and learning from them and making new mistakes because the last one hurt too hard.
Picture Credits: Pexels
The Creative Ninja speaks 