At the dawn of this very day, I was blanketing myself at my couch with my memory utterly sentient. Hoorah! It’s Saturday, my office is wrapped up and so I impelled myself to doze a bit but my milieu strained me to relinquish my proposal. My papa who primed to saunter to his workplace woke me up, declaring, ‘Keerthu, wake uppp.. The milkman will reach here in five minutes. I am moving. Lock the door. Bye’ and I pushed my hands on the road to my phone which marked 9.50 am. Heartbroken that I aroused so earlier, I marched unswerving to the entrance bearing a vessel in my right hand and rested it nearby the door such that the milkman wouldn’t pester. My mom left to Coimbatore this morning for cousin’s get- together and certainly, I was all alone.
Cherishing the privacy that I had today, I loved being myself preventing faux and affirming there is not a one to query me. With heaps of contentment in my eyes, I turned on my YouTube and played the song ‘May Maasam Thonnuthettil’ a quite sexy song starring Reema Sen, and consecutively ‘Maanguyile poonguyile’ a slow folk song from Karakaatakaran and I swayed my hands, whirled my legs and smiled with highs and lows, throwing my fake mask out. Examining the clock and realizing I still had time for my morning meal, and discerning my privacy this day, I then played our traditional badaga song ‘Melay keri’ and danced with great fondness. After completing, and when the next song proceeded, I suspected myself of having a bipolar disorder. Oh nooo! Is it? It couldn’t be. With my mouth stinking, and stomach quacking I watched the time which portrayed 11.30 am. So, it has been one and half hours that I had been dancing and smiling with none around.
Accomplishing my morning chores, I advanced to the kitchen to make my dosa. And so, I put the fire on, and kept my pan and after sufficient hotness, I poured the batter and I rolled by extending it, and on rolling and rolling, I still didn’t get a perfect statured dosa. It’s been fourteen months of my marriage to which I couldn’t shape a single perfect dosa. But I am not despondent, I am damn sure that I will execute it one day. Making two dosas (though it didn’t resemble) and with mint chutney that my mama made before departing, my brunch got over. And the time was 12.25 pm, in which my mama ringed to ensure that I made my breakfast and also reminded that I was the women- in- charge of lunch and she told that she had peeled the onions and kept it in a small jar and the soaked rice in a vessel nearby the gas. I, then darted to the restroom and found I had a dysentery. Yes, it occurs to me whenever I was assigned with a task that creates anxiety inside. Then grasping the time was 12.33 pm I went to the lanai to get some Sun, and surprisingly got my friend’s call. Realizing that I was about to cook, she smiled and encouraged a bit.
The time was then 12.45 pm, and now, I have to start cooking. And in reality, I hate cooking. My papa would arrive home by 1.30 pm and so I ambled to the kitchen, played some music, discovered the peeled onions and got frustrated that it would pressurize me to weep when I slay them. Then I took the cutting pad and a sharp knife and initiated chopping it, it was just two in number, but when I cut half of it, my tears filled my eyes and so I rushed to my hall and roamed simply for 30 seconds and I came back and chopped the remaining and kept it aside. Then I was certain, that I was about to make tomato rice for which I need a tomato, and its richness in hue encouraged me to squeeze it but I wouldn’t because today I’m the chef and not a child. So, I took one and while chopping I could find its juice and a few seeds jerking between my fingers and I got bewildered whether I washed my hands. No worries! I washed it with my newly bought handwash. Then I thought to add some ginger-garlic paste. Since we had no fridge as my dad resisted buying as he thought that my mama would provide him daily with the preserved food, I had to make it fresh and hand made. So I peeled the garlic and the ginger and put in my mixer, really I don’t know the ratio, I plainly added some and grinded it and kept aside. Yes, now everything is set.
Procuring the pressure cooker, I put it on high flame and poured some Sunflower oil on it. When I found the oil in the bowl was inadequate, I turned the fire off and phoned my mama. She didn’t attend and so I took a new Gold Winner packet and unfastened it and poured few tablespoons of it into the cooker. Honestly, I didn’t know with what measure I poured it but I could notice a tiny amount covering the base of the cooker. Adding a half tablespoon of mustard seeds, it started blowing out like a little atomic bomb and hey, I really had no intention of throwing them in hot oil, but it’s the actual procedure it seems. And then, I added the chopped onions that made me weep and while adding, I got a sound like ‘Shhhhhhh’ as if it is warning me to stay quiet. Next instantly, I added some salt, I promise I don’t know its quantification but I know it’s just a quarter tablespoon. Then took my cutlery and started mixing it to and fro. It was turning brown which is my skin colour and I believe that all the whites are fit for nothing. Then I realized the onions were sticking to its end and I added a little more oil and started frying.
Then I added half- table spoon of the very light beige coloured (maybe I’m wrong) garlic- ginger paste which was made fresh. It was wet and I added and started frying for a minute and then added the tomato and started beating it. I am sorry but I had to do it. The tomato then looked like a piece of skin and I wondered where did all its juice disappear. Then I added the turmeric powder which my mama used to say that must be added to all recipes since it has anti-oxidant and anti-microbial property, and I included comparatively more respecting my mom a bit more. Then I annexed the chilli powder that was homemade by my mom with no proper measure. Then I added the soaked rice and water accordingly. And yes, everything is perfect now, except the appropriation of the salt and chilli powder. I waited for three minutes for the whole thing to boil and the food seemed delicious. When it initiated boiling, everything the pride I had was far beyond the universe.
And now, is my major challenge, to precise the salt and chilli powder. So, I took a drop of boiling ingredients (mainly water) and tasted it. What the hell! It’s damn bland. So I had to add salt, and I proceeded with it. Again I tasted to find nothing and dropped the chilli powder in finding it tasting salty. And so, I had no other option. I included the chilli powder again. When I tasted it looked like its overly spicy. Then I remembered my folks voicing to add salt if its too spicy and I did it accordingly. Furthermore, I found it salty, after knowing its disgusting, I took half a glass of water and poured on it. I know adding more water would make the rice wet at completion, but I was left with no other option. Further tasting, I found the chilli powder was quite high, and so added salt and now salt was high and again poured half glass of water. Then on final tasting, undoubtedly, I was not aware about the taste. While it touched my tongue I could feel the chilli powder was high, and when it reached my throat, it felt salty. With towering vexation, I closed my flip-on cooker and consoled myself to order something instead of having this. Closing its pressure, and simmering it for ten minutes, I turned it off and observed someone knocking the door at 1.50 pm.
While unlatching, it was my dad, with big belly, questioning about the lunch. He then moved to the TV for watching live cricket (Ind Vs NZ) and I marched to the kitchen and forced opening the pressure and when my dad asked not to do it, I told him that I added more of water. And he told me that if water is inadequate, I can proceed with it and not now. And I don’t know whether he was correct and I didn’t want to know the science behind it. After the pressure was down, the anxiety of creating such a mess brought me again my dysentery and I rushed again to my washroom. After coming out, I could find my papa eating without any complaints.
‘How is it papa?’
‘Very good. No imperfections’
I was happy that something happened to be something better. And also, I was aware my dad doesn’t utter fault in my doings. And so, I took my plate and watched its color. It was bright and tempting and looked delicious. I, then, sat comfortably with my plate in the dining room. I grabbed it in my hands, and with high expectations and pride, I dropped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed and realized, ‘Mamaaa! I miss you’
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