Beta

Blogs home

The Creative Cook

Mar 2 2008 | Views 1357 | Comments (93)

When Rohini finally got married at the age of 28, there were two things she did not know anyt... Expand

When Rohini finally got married at the age of 28, there were two things she did not know anything about. One was cooking and the other, knitting. Having lost her mother at the tender age of 8, she had been brought up by her adoring father and a series of ayahs.

The loss had not been just an emotional one, but the girl had also lost out on learning a lot of essential things a woman needed to know in life. Rohini had never learnt any household work. Apart from cleaning up the house or doing a flower arrangement once in a while, she was blissfully unaware of the hard work and skill that went into running a house.

“Not to worry, my daughter will get married to a man who can afford to employ a cook and a housekeeper,” was her doting father’s opinion.

But dreaming is very different from the realities of life. As fate would have it, Rohini fell in love with an ordinary mortal, who did hold a good job with a reasonable salary and who could afford to keep her in comfort, but couldn’t afford the luxury of employing a cook and a housekeeper.

“You can’t marry that oaf,” thundered Rohini’s father when she expressed her wish to marry Varun.
“Father, I love that man,” pouted the pampered daughter. “In any case, it is better that you don’t call him names since he’s soon going to be your son- in-law.”
“Son-in-law? My left foot and my little toe,” shouted the irate father, helplessly.
“Papa!” whimpered the only daughter, hurt at being refused something for the first time in her life.
Unable to bear the sight of tears flowing down his dear daughter’s cheeks, the father relented.
“All right, all right, call him over. I want to talk to him.”

When the young man appeared for the discussions, Rohini’s father did his best to dissuade the eager suitor, “She is no good. She can’t make any self-respecting young man a good wife. Let me share a secret with you, my friend. Rohini is thoroughly spoilt. She can’t do any housework,” confided Rohini’s father.

“Oh, that’s a minor matter. The main thing is that we love each other.”
“She can’t even sew a button.”
“Doesn’t matter. I am good at sewing my own buttons.”
“She can’t sweep or swab.”
“No problem. There are plenty of part-time maidservants available for the job. In fact, I have one working for me at the moment,” replied the young man, nonchalantly biting into the delicious samosa specially brought from Chandu haiwal’s shop, for the evening.

‘I’ll confide in you. Rohini can’t boil an egg or even make proper tea.” The father was desparate.
“Really? How interesting.”
“Well, you don’t believe me, do you?” asked the exasperated father.
“The proof of the pudding is in eating it. Why not ask Rohini to make me a cup of tea?”

In his determination to shake off the suitor, Rohini’s father had exaggerated a little. Rohini could do just one thing in the kitchen and that was to prepare tea with the help of tea bags. What she lacked in cooking skills, she made up with her intelligence
“Dip, dip, dip. Add a little sugar and a little milk,” she sang as she boiled the water and poured it into the tea-pot. Next, she heated the milk and it went into the milk pot. The sugar cubes were put in the sugar pot and laying a few tea bags alongside, Rohini carried the tea-tray to the suitor, waiting eagerly for it.

A few minutes later, they were sipping the hot brew served with great aplomb by the charming young girl and there was the unmistakable glint of victory in Varun’s eyes as they met those of Rohini’s father.
The old man realised that it was futile to try to dissuade the lovelorn couple, so he blessed them.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, exhausted after the long argument.

Varun looked too besotted with the beautiful girl to care about her culinary skills.
“Thanks, Sir. You will not regret this decision and neither will I.”
The next few days passed with the speed of lightning as they made hectic preparations for the wedding.

“Try to pick up some cooking,” Rohini’s friends tried to tell her but she was on cloud nine, too wrapped up in her dreams to care. Cushioned in the comfortable cocoon of a dream world, they left for the honeymoon.
But all honeymoons end at some point of time and so did Rohini’s.

The first thought that struck her on return was: What will I feed my husband? The instant noodles couldn’t carry on forever.

Unable to decide on the next course of action, she began leafing through the pages of a magazine. Her eyes were arrested by an advertisement for a ready-to-eat product: If you are not a good cook, don’t despair. Try our range of ready-to-eat products. It’s easy, just heat and serve and earn the love of your husband, for life. Our range includes pulao, chicken tikkas, gobhi....

Rohini let out a yelp of happiness as she jumped up and rushed out.

Varun shouted in surprise, “Hey, where are you off to?”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to get your dinner,” she shouted back.
She entered the nearest departmental store and walked purposefully towards the array of packages, bottles and tins of ready- to-eat products lined on the shelves. An endless variety greeted her eyes. There were ready-mix packets and tins of gulab lamuns, sambar, rasam, pulao, chicken cutlets, breakfast cereals, soups and a whole lot of other things. She laughed gleefully as she heaped her shopping basket and ran back home.

Varun had never seen so many varieties of packages, tins and bottles in his life. Although the purchases had burnt a big hole in his pocket, he was too excited with his new wife to care. He followed his wife into the kitchen and watched her as she proceeded to prepare their meal, following the directions given on the packages and tins. Soon a delicious aroma began to emanate from the kitchen and Varun began to feel hungry.

“The wonders of the scientific age!” he sang as he took his place at the table.
“Who would have thought a meal could be cooked so easily? Had I known, I would never have agreed to marry. I would have just bought those packages, tins and bottles and prepared my own meals,” he teased Rohini.

“The chicken is fantastic,” he remarked, biting into a succulent leg of the bird. Rohini smiled happily as she heaped his plate with matar pulao.
“Who says that one can’t get along without the knowledge of cooking?” she thought.

She was blissfully unaware of the perils that lay ahead, for the moment things were fine. Breakfasts were a variety of sandwiches made with cheese spreads, mayonnaise, peanut butter and many other fillings that Rohini had picked up from the shelves of the supermarket.

The lovelorn couple spent their days cooing sweet nothings to each other and dined out of the array of tins, bottles and packages. “So far, so good,” thought the young girl to herself.

All good things come to an end and so did Varun’s leave.
“Darling, my leave is over, I feel like having something other than tinned stuff for my dinner. Please try cooking something fresh today. I am fed up to my eyeball with ready-to- eat foods,” remarked Varun as he got ready for office.

Rohini realised that she would have to start proper cooking; she still did not have the slightest idea of how to go about it. She went out and bought some vegetables.
“I’ll try making peas pulao and dum aloo,” she thought, as she leafed through the recipe books, ‘these look quite simple.’

But she had never imagined that cooking could be such a complicated matter. By the time she had finished chopping the potatoes, almost all her fingers were decorated with band-aids. She kept rushing out of the kitchen to apply dettol every few minutes and tears streamed down her face as she struggled with the onions.
“Whoever invented cooking?” she grumbled, wiping her eyes, “why couldn’t man be content eating raw food as his ancestors did?”

The kitchen was a total mess and utensils were piled high in the sink. After three grueling hours in the kitchen, Rohini heaved a sigh of relief. She had followed the recipes to each comma and full stop.

The dum aloo looked tempting as she poured it into the serving bowl. The matar pulao also looked delicious and smelt heavenly. She put a few red roses in a vase and placed it on the dining table.
Satisfied, she went in for a bath to wash away the sweat and grime. Ten minutes later, she emerged from her bath, dressed in a fresh pink dress and brushed her short hair till it curled at the ends. She was applying a bindi when the doorbell chimed.

Varun walked in looking tired after a long day at work. He absently kissed his wife and went in for a wash.
“So much work has piled up during my leave that I’ve really got to slog now,” he said.
“Tea?” asked Rohini, flashing him a dazzling smile.
“No, darling, I’m feeling famished. We could have an early dinner and go to bed early, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem. Dinner is ready. I’ll get you a bowl of hot soup to begin with.”

Rohini went in to get the soup she had made out of a packet of soup cubes. Varun lapped up the soup eagerly.
“That’s the most satisfying soup I’ve ever had,” he said, praising his wife. She felt herself glow at his compliment as she served a plateful of pulao to her husband.

Varun put a spoonful of the pulao into his mouth and the next moment he was spitting it out.
“What’s this? Why are the peas as hard as stones? How do you expect me to eat this, I don’t have hammers in my mouth”
“But I went according to the recipe,” protested Rohini.
“Is this some kind of a joke?” raged Varun.
“Darling, I can show you the book, I’ve....”
“Who wants to see your book? All I want is some food.”

The mystery of the stone-like peas baffled Rohini while Varun served himself the dum doo and brought out a loaf of bread, reserved for breakfast.

The dum aloo too was a total disaster with the onions half cooked and the masala overdone. Disgusted, he made himself a few sandwiches and went to bed.

Rohini cleared up, while tears flowed down her cheeks. By the time she went to bed, Varun had already cooled down and was regretting his outburst.
Feeling sorry for her, he asked, “Why were the peas so hard?”
“I don’t know.”

“OK. Tell me, where did you buy the peas from?”
“I didn’t buy them today. Since fresh peas were so expensive, I used the dry peas that we bought last week.”
“And you made pulao out of them? No wonder they were so hard. Darling, even I know that dried peas should be soaked overnight before they are cooked.”
They both burst out laughing at her foolishness.
“Will you be patient with me?” asked Rohini.
“Of course! Since I married you despite your father’s warnings, I have to bear with you. But, darling, please learn to cook soon. I can’t work on a hungry stomach.”

The next day, Rohini began making earnest efforts to learn cooking. She would spend hours poring over her recipe books and trying out dishes. In her efforts, she enrolled the help of her part-time maid, who taught her a few basic dishes.

Rohini cleverly camouflaged her lack of culinary skill, with her quick wit and imagination. The first time she made gulab jamuns, they all broke into pieces, with not a single one intact. She served them under a new name—jamun halwa.

Varun thought there was really something known as jamun halwa and ate it up appreciatively. Rohini’s first attempt at cooking chicken brought about a similar result. The chicken pieces were submerged in a pool of thin watery gravy. She called it “floating chicken paradise.”

Their life was full of humorous incidents at the dining-table. Rohini had become brave enough to pack a lunch- box for him, at times.

One day, Rohini packed up some mutton cutlets she had made with minced meat out of a tin. While Varun was having them in the office, Mr. Chopra, his boss, came up to the table and said, “Hello Varun, you seem to be enjoying some good stuff all by yourself.”
Varun was Mr. Chopra’s favourite employee.
“Try one, sir,” offered Varun.
Mr Chopra picked up a cutlet and smacked his lips.
‘Delicious. Your wife cooks really well.”
“Sir....”
“I always thought that modern girls know nothing about cooking. You are a lucky man.”

“That I am, sir,” admitted the young man.
“Well, I think it is high time you called me home for dinner. I would love to sample your wife’s good cooking.”
Varun was flabbergasted. The Chief was inviting himself over for a meal! How could he refuse?

“That would be fantastic, sir. Why not this Saturday?” he said.
“Saturday? That’s the day after tomorrow. Well, I think that would be fine.”
Varun went back home in great excitement. He hugged his wife and danced around the room.
“Guess what, darling? The Chief is coming here to dinner on Saturday.”

Rohini was taken aback.
“You mean, you invited him to dinner?”
“No darling, he invited himself for dinner, it’s lucky that he did. Our promotions are being finalized and the boss will be signing the papers any day now. If you can please the old man, I’ll definitely make it to the next grade. It’s a golden opportunity and everything depends on you, Rohini,”

She wasn’t too happy with the news.
“But I don’t know any cooking. How can I manage a guest? What will I do?”
“Oh, you will manage, I’m confident.”
“Darling, I generally serve you the stuff I prepare from tins and packages. I’m still not good enough to invite people over to dinner, least of all your boss. You must cancel the invitation. Make some excuse and get out of it, somehow. Do something, darling.”

“Don’t be funny, how can I cancel the dinner? The boss will sack me, if I did.”
“What shall I do?” she wailed.
“We’ll get some stuff from a hotel and you can prepare some of the items,” he suggested helpfully:
“Don’t you remember? The Association of Restaurant and Hotel Owners are on strike. Remember we wanted to go out for dinner last Saturday and then we read about the strike in the newspapers?”

“Oh, yes. Look, Rohini, you must try to manage the situation. You are an intelligent girl, you will find a way. We can’t stop the boss from coming home for dinner - that much is sure.”

Rohini spent the next day in the kitchen trying out various dishes and discarding them. By Saturday, she had finally arrived at a menu. She decided on matar paneer, lauki kofta, chicken mughlai, matar pulao and kheer.
She began cooking right from Saturday morning. After labouring the entire day, she finally finished her cooking. She carefully inspected the day’s work and sighed loudly.

Despite all care, the matar in the matar paneer had got overcooked and broken into pieces.
The koftas she had made out of lauki had crumbled up.The chicken pieces looked pathetic with the meat having shied away from the bones.

Time was running out and Rohini was desperate. She hurriedly picked out the bones from the chicken pieces and began inventing names for her cooking marvels.

‘Lauki koftas do not exist in the dish anymore, so the dish shall be called marrow mince delight, the matar paneer shall be called paneer shahi, thank God the paneer pieces are intact. The chicken could go under the name—chicken magyarkar, which sounds both exotic and delicious.

She then peeped into the boiling kheer. She had misjudged the quantity of rice and the kheer had become too thick. Quickly she toppled it off with a can of condensed milk and garnished it with a lot of cashewnuts and raisins.
“Looks delicious,” commented her husband as he peeped into each dish after returning from work.

The table was set to perfection, with a lace table cover and a lovely flower
arrangement in the centre. The couple waited eagerly for the arrival of Mr. Chopra.
Mr Chopra arrived dot on time. He was a genial old bachelor, wedded to work and a connoisseur of good food. Rohini and Varun glanced at each other apprehensively, as Mr. Chopra sampled each dish.

“Mrs. Thakur, what did you say was the name of this dish?”
“Marrow mince delight.”
“Mmm mmm, well, this is the first time I’ve heard of it but it sure tastes different. And what did you say the chicken is called?”
“It is chicken magyarkar,” she replied nervously.
“Magyarkar?”
“That’s a Burmese dish. Rohini got the recipe when she went on a holiday to Myanmar,” said Varun hurriedly.
“Myanmar?”
Mr. Chopra looked totally foxed.

The dinner was a very silent affair as Mr. Chopra thoughtfully chomped his
way through the dishes while Varun and Rohini threw nervous glances at each other. There was tense expectation on their faces. The boss, however, looked stern and uncommunicative.

“You’ve spoilt it all,” burst out Varun after seeing the boss out. “I’ll be fired from my job. Forget the promotion, I’ll be lucky if the old man does not give me the boot.” “What can I do? Why did you invite him here?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I did not invite him over. He invited himself to dinner. Anyway, we did our best and I‘m ready to face the consequences of the disastrous dinner tonight.”

Rohini, however, kept weeping for long time that night. She felt she had let him down.

The next morning, Varun was called in by the boss. He had expected it and was ready for the firing.
“I have a serious complaint against you.” The boss began…
“Sir, I’m very sorry about last night. Actually....”
“You should be sorry.”
“How could you be so selfish and insensitive? You deserve to be punished.”
“Sir....”

“Your punishment shall be severe and irrevocable.”
“Sir....”
“I’ll be having dinner with you again this Saturday and please ask your wife to make chicken magyarkar again.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, young man. You are selfish in not wanting to share your wife’s good cooking with anyone.”

“Sir, I want to confess. My wife has never been anywhere near Myanmar and chicken magyarkar is a figment of her own imagination. There is no dish by that name.”
“Don’t lie to me, young man. Do what I tell you. I want to have chicken magyarkar and marrow mince delight this Saturday. You may go now.”

The Chief suppressed a smile at the look of bewilderment in Varun’s eyes as he handed over a letter to him, saying, “After all, we have to celebrate your promotion, don’t we?”

Sulekha.com

tanushri podder

wordsmith.sulekha.com

The Creative Cook

Leave a comment

Communities

Members

Services

Cities