Honey I burned the dal

Today was just not a good day for the dal. I woke up, opened the fridge and saw the leftover dal from two days ago. I threw it out, and decided to cook a fresh pot. I duly measured it, washed it, and cooked it in the pressure cooker with just the right amount of water. Then I drifted elsewhere. First to drink my tea and read the newspaper. I checked the dal, it showed no sign of being cooked. Let's give it some more time, I thought, and went down to speak to the watchman about our electric bills. The watchman was nowhere to be found, and I sat down on his chair waiting for him and watching the residents come and go. When he finally made his appearance and after we discussed the stuff I went up, and witnessed a small crowd (most notably the small kid next door) gathered outside our door. The smell of something burning hung heavily in the air. I opened the door, rushed inside, and the kitchen was full of smoke, the pressure cooker turned the colour black. I switched off the stove and dunked the cooker in water. The smell was unbearable. Opening it I discovered I had reduced the dal to part slushy dal, part black gravel. I scooped out the parts that were salvageable and ate some of it at lunch, and although I don't think they would throw away food I told myself the kids had eaten the rest of it because when I came home late at night the bowl was empty and there was no sign of salvaged dal in the dustbin which I know is being overtly optimistic but the next time I cook dal I will remember to stand by it and won't let anybody hurt it.