When I was a young girl, I used to beg my mother for some curd. You see, we were always served weak, watered down buttermilk and never soft, thick-set curd which was the exclusive preserve of my father. But sometimes, very rarely, my mother would relent and I would be given a spoon of curd which I was convinced was the very taste of heaven. Back then, ours was a large family with tight budgets and rigid hierarchies. Earning male members were at the top of this pecking order and us kids always brought up the rear. But we didn't complain. Some 'moar*' is better than no 'moar*'.
Things are different now. We live in a different country and in relative affluence. We no longer have to dilute our curd. We can choose between natural low fat and greek style. There are even flavoured versions of it - from rhubarb to valencia orange. So I can have a different taste of heaven every day. But some evenings, when we sit down for dinner, I water-down my curd making it buttermilk. My mother used to say you should never have thick curd at night. It doesn't digest well.
*buttermilk in tamil