THOU SHALT COOK

THOU SHALT COOK

As me and my mom were sitting across the table, a dozen or so lists strewn in between us; the enormity of the situation was dawning on her- it was less than a month to go for my wedding! There I was mud pack on my face, painting my nails, dreaming of my island honeymoon when she gives me a nice kick on my shin bringing me back on Planet Earth. In the loud and urgent tone characteristic of an Indian mom she says; “I won’t even ask you what you are planning to feed your husband but won’t you yourself be hungry? What the heck are you planning to eat for the rest of your lives?” “Maggi” pat came my reply! Well this was a year ago when maggi was still the staple food of half the nation, what hostelites swore by and what summed up the culinary skills of most girls of my generation. But much before the government realized that maggi could actually be used to make weapons most Indian moms were always up against arms of our dear maggi. So obviously there came another kick across the table as I answered maggi. “Are u crazy?” she said, listing all the ill effects of our pyaare noodles. But I was and am blessed with the modern woman’s kavachkundala aka ‘shamelessness’. I just said, “Mamma relax Pune is known for its restaurants and street food and overall khavayyagiri, I am sure it can fill two more hungry mouths.”

I remembered this conversation exactly two months after my wedding as me and my better half stood in our kitchen staring at the muddy mess of atta and water we had created. Yes we loved Pune’s cuisine and like any newly married couple we were sailing on rainbows and all in all acting like pixie dust is shed on us 24*7 but two months of outside food, the taste, the calories and two episodes of gastroenteritis later the pixies and rainbows vanished. Our dreams were filled with ‘ghar ka khana’. Also as the house got filled with furniture and kitchen accessories and a dozen or so completely useless décor items, one fine day Mr. Buy Whatever You Want glanced at the bank balance and well we finally realized for our tummies, tongues and pockets sake we had to somehow conjure up ‘ghar ka khana’.

Thus started the phone calls to the respective mothers, knife in one hand, kaddu in the other, phone tucked between neck and shoulder following step wise instructions. Oh it was a mess and what a lovely mess, bumping onto each other in the kitchen, maneuvering around, Mr. Better Half trying to adhere to the wedding vows so creating more mess in the quest of been helpful. Then off course the culture clashes with my 96k Maratha mom advising garam masala and lal tikhat in everything and my Chittapavan Kokanastha Brahmin MIL advising goda masala and jaggery in everything. The first few days after trying to cook with these opposing phone instructions, we took a meeting and a resolution was passed to shut off both moms and pray to the one and only, everyone’s mother and father, brother and sister, friend and mentor, the all pervading, the omnipotent ‘Google Devta’. So websites were bookmarked, the laptop found a place of pride in the kitchen and was soon adorned with haldi and mirch and some unidentified substances. So began the ‘Google-It-Up’ phase of cooking after the ‘Phone-A-Mom’ phase of cooking. There were quite a few edible dishes, and as long as our pockets and intestines were not emptied, Mr. Better Half gladly gulped down everything.

A few months passed and the recipes were nailed good enough to even do the daring feat of calling the sasural ka family over. Some criticisms (MILs won’t survive without that) and loads of compliments later, came the ‘You Bettcha I Can Cook My Ass Off- Lets Experiment’ phase of cooking. So were bought all the fancy items off the supermarket shelf the exotic sauces, the dips and herbs, pasta packs and odd looking veggies; poor old white colored cauliflower and green cabbage were shunned for the exotic green broccoli and purple cabbage. Odd named cheese were purchased, wine was added to food (cos come on that’s what they do on Masterchef Australia and the love of my life Georgie gorges it up, doesn’t he?) chilli was put in desserts, masala and cheese combined in main courses, feeling like a masterchef the rich food was devoured. But all good things must end and so did this phase with the weighing scale creaking under our weight, the skirts refusing to be zipped up and the doctors sounding the cholesterol bells!

Hence came the ‘We Are On A Diet’ phase of cooking. Once again the supermarket was raided but this time the inner sections picking up oats, muesli, olive oil, mushrooms, tofu, oats biscuits, oats noodles, oats chivda, oats this and oats that basically we became Mr. and Mrs. Oats. And as expected within a month we couldn’t stand the sight of oats! Hence we went back to phase one calling the moms phase and so it continues our food journey now a mixture of all its first year phases, the occasional dining out, the phone recipes, the Google recipes, the experimental recipes, and the healthy ones; once in a while when the weighing scale creaks again.

-          BY SNEHA KARLE