Singing at the dinner table brings bad luck or poverty

Scene: Video call on a chilly Friday evening. Raj is cooking dinner while Sam is sipping tea from a mug labeled “Empirical Evidence > Everything.”

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Raj:
(singing while stirring a pot) 🎶 “Masoor dal with a hint of ghee, gonna make my tummy so hap—” (suddenly stops singing, looks horrified) Oh no. Sam. I did it again.

Sam:
(grinning) What? You sounded like a South Asian Gordon Ramsay with a Bollywood twist.

Raj:
I sang at the dinner table! Don’t you know what that means?

Sam:
Uh… that you’re ready for MasterChef: Musical Edition?

Raj:
(serious) No, Sam. Singing at the dinner table brings bad luck. Or worse—poverty. My nani warned me every single time I hummed during dinner.

Sam:
Come on, Raj. You know I respect tradition, but… do you honestly believe your playlist will summon financial doom?

Raj:
(defensive) Listen. Last month, I hummed while eating paneer butter masala, and the next day? My car battery died, I spilled coffee on my work laptop, and my Tinder date ghosted me. Coincidence? I think not.

Sam:
(laughs) Or maybe your car’s 10 years old, your laptop’s allergic to caffeine, and the date figured out you believe dal can curse your bank account.

Raj:
(laughing but still convinced) Hey! Mock all you want, but these beliefs have survived generations. There must be something to them.

Sam:
Well sure—they probably started with good intentions. Maybe your ancestors didn’t want people choking while belting tunes mid-biryani. But that doesn’t mean it’s cosmically cursed.

Raj:
Then explain why my uncle, who religiously avoided singing at the table, won a lottery last year?

Sam:
Okay. Correlation doesn’t mean causation. That’s like saying because I sneezed three times yesterday, it caused a snowstorm in Quebec.

Raj:
(smirks) That would be peak Canadian chaos.

Sam:
Seriously, Raj—there’s no evidence singing causes poverty. In fact, studies show singing releases endorphins, reduces stress, and even improves digestion. Technically, singing at dinner could help you live longer.

Raj:
(raising an eyebrow) So you’re saying I should serenade my roti every night?

Sam:
Absolutely. Make it a duet. You and the mango pickle.

Raj:
(chuckling) You’re impossible. But what if you’re wrong, and my singing really does mess with the universe?

Sam:
Then I’ll personally wire you $10 for every hummed chorus of “Tandoori Nights.” Deal?

Raj:
(thinking it over) That’s… oddly tempting.

Sam:
Or, we do an experiment. Sing every day at dinner for a week. Track what happens—expenses, mishaps, income. If disaster strikes, I’ll admit defeat and buy you a coconut to ward off evil.

Raj:
(grinning) Only if it comes with a lime and incense stick.

Sam:
Done. But hey, maybe your nani was onto something—not about bad luck, but about mindfulness. Maybe the idea was to eat in peace, focus on the meal, not multitask.

Raj:
Now that I can respect. But can I still sing after dinner?

Sam:
Of course. Just don’t do it with your mouth full. Science and manners agree on that one.

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[They both burst into laughter, as Raj dramatically breaks into a post-dinner operatic ode to chapati.]