I swirled on the living room couch, listening to the
pleasant sound of a heavy monsoon rain. The tiny water droplets that rushed in
through the window and lingered in the air, made me shiver. I kept swapping
between the sports channels in TV, not stopping with anything for too long.
The aroma of ghee melting on top of a frying Dosa, on the pan, spread in the air. My mother knew that I was too lazy, even to get up and have my breakfast. So, after some time, she brought me a plate, with a golden brown color, crispy Dosa rolled and kept at one end, and some onion chutney, which is nothing but a well ground mixture of fried onion, red chilies and tomatoes, next to it. I began to drool, as she brought me the plate. The first piece of Dosa, dipped in the spicy chutney, went into my mouth, soon enough.
I settled onto a channel, where a live telecast of an old cricket match was going on. In between, I took a sip of the hot filter coffee that mother had placed on the small table, next to the couch.
Bliss.
But not anymore. The society brings upon hundreds of restrictions on you, some of which are, hardly even fair, and the most exasperating among them is that, nobody will pay you, unless you work. So, eventually I had to move away from home, first for my education, and then, for a job. The food that mother used to cook, became something that I could enjoy, only once in a long while.
The first thing that I learned, after moving to a city was that, the food doesn’t cook on its own. Looked like, it took a lot of effort to create something that is edible, let alone, tasty. Often, I would make phone calls, asking for instructions.
'Amma, how many whistles does the cooker blow before the rice gets cooked?'
'Four. You have poured enough water with the rice, right?'
'Ugh. Was I supposed to add water, with the rice? But anyways, water is not an essential
ingredient, is it? I’m sure it’s not going to alter the taste, much. By the way, who the hell is smoking, in my room?'
Practice makes things better, if not perfect, and so did my cooking. I did a permutation and combination of the chilly, turmeric, coriander and masala powders, everyday. Random vegetables cut up and cooked with all these ingredients, I proudly called them dishes. I was always willing to gobble up almost anything.
After my brave maneuvers in the kitchen for more than a year, what I realized was that, cooking is more or less of an art. An artist possesses an inner vision of how the creation will look or feel like, once it is finished. The same is the quality that a good cook possesses, and of course, the same was what I completely lacked.
Cooking, whenever I do it, gives me a sense of independence. I don’t depend on anyone else, at least to cook my own food. We, as a modern society, always tend to slip into a consumer culture, and fall into the fallacy that everything that we need for consumption, will always be readily available for buying. Living in a country where the national food security bill didn’t escape from getting stranded in the political quagmire, ensuring our own food security is something that each individual should be concerned about. Cooking on our own, could be the first step to that.
The infrastructure development is going exponential, but, what we often forget is that, unless someone cultivates, we don’t eat. To have our own fruits and vegetables grown in our own yard, may be, that’s how we should see ourselves in the future.
Now, that is some free advice, to the world, from me.
It’s dinner time. I am hungry.
Where is the nearest pizza shop?
The aroma of ghee melting on top of a frying Dosa, on the pan, spread in the air. My mother knew that I was too lazy, even to get up and have my breakfast. So, after some time, she brought me a plate, with a golden brown color, crispy Dosa rolled and kept at one end, and some onion chutney, which is nothing but a well ground mixture of fried onion, red chilies and tomatoes, next to it. I began to drool, as she brought me the plate. The first piece of Dosa, dipped in the spicy chutney, went into my mouth, soon enough.
I settled onto a channel, where a live telecast of an old cricket match was going on. In between, I took a sip of the hot filter coffee that mother had placed on the small table, next to the couch.
Bliss.
But not anymore. The society brings upon hundreds of restrictions on you, some of which are, hardly even fair, and the most exasperating among them is that, nobody will pay you, unless you work. So, eventually I had to move away from home, first for my education, and then, for a job. The food that mother used to cook, became something that I could enjoy, only once in a long while.
The first thing that I learned, after moving to a city was that, the food doesn’t cook on its own. Looked like, it took a lot of effort to create something that is edible, let alone, tasty. Often, I would make phone calls, asking for instructions.
'Amma, how many whistles does the cooker blow before the rice gets cooked?'
'Four. You have poured enough water with the rice, right?'
'Ugh. Was I supposed to add water, with the rice? But anyways, water is not an essential
ingredient, is it? I’m sure it’s not going to alter the taste, much. By the way, who the hell is smoking, in my room?'
Practice makes things better, if not perfect, and so did my cooking. I did a permutation and combination of the chilly, turmeric, coriander and masala powders, everyday. Random vegetables cut up and cooked with all these ingredients, I proudly called them dishes. I was always willing to gobble up almost anything.
After my brave maneuvers in the kitchen for more than a year, what I realized was that, cooking is more or less of an art. An artist possesses an inner vision of how the creation will look or feel like, once it is finished. The same is the quality that a good cook possesses, and of course, the same was what I completely lacked.
Cooking, whenever I do it, gives me a sense of independence. I don’t depend on anyone else, at least to cook my own food. We, as a modern society, always tend to slip into a consumer culture, and fall into the fallacy that everything that we need for consumption, will always be readily available for buying. Living in a country where the national food security bill didn’t escape from getting stranded in the political quagmire, ensuring our own food security is something that each individual should be concerned about. Cooking on our own, could be the first step to that.
The infrastructure development is going exponential, but, what we often forget is that, unless someone cultivates, we don’t eat. To have our own fruits and vegetables grown in our own yard, may be, that’s how we should see ourselves in the future.
Now, that is some free advice, to the world, from me.
It’s dinner time. I am hungry.
Where is the nearest pizza shop?
