Kitchen is the most important room in the house. Our lifespan is decided here. A right potion in wrong quantity or wrong potion in right quantity can rest you in the restroom for the rest of the day.
Since my childhood, I was never allowed into the kitchen for fear of burning down the house. Hence, cooking was never my cup of tea. Further, I got a golden arm for breaking things. So kitchen was placed out of bounds for me. Occasionally I managed to steal jaggery, and horlicks. During the course if anything was broken, I was invariably summoned. If the stove didn’t burn, my mother will look at me like “Did you?”. If fire truck entered my street, my father would ask “Got anything to say?”.
So I never cooked anything apart from stories. It continued till my first marriage. I mean my only marriage! Reason for stating like this is that, during those days I was blessed with neighbours who had married twice. First wife dead or divorced. So I used to talk to my wife about second marriage longingly till one day she said “If you continue talking like this, I will marry again and you will bless me from heaven!”.
Most of friends cook a bit but talk a lot. When they were alone and try new dishes, I was always invited. One fellow asked me how it was after a non-veg treat and I asked him how did he prepare that Chicken sambar? He never invited me after that. Whenever I visit them, they would be in south indian cooking dress i.e lungi and lungi alone. It’s useful to wipe your face as well as kitchen glove.
I was working in Hyderabad one time and I must have got up on the wrong side of the bed and it dawned on me that I was destined to be the greatest cook of all time. My wife had gone to Salem. The distance of 770 kms emboldened me to cook.
Women always boast of cooking. Is it that hard? Just add 1 glass of rice, 2 glass of water and 3 whistle. That’s all. I decided to start from rice, sambar and slowly move on to land-food, seafood and junk food. After all, the top chefs in the world are men.
My wife ‘cooker’ always used milk cooker, rice cooker and coffee cooker, I mean maker. So, cooking rice must be a piece of cake. I entered the kitchen remembering 1,2,3. Took a glass of rice in a Container (not a Customs term). Quick washed, rinsed and dried it like washing machine. Then poured 2 glass of water. But there were 2, 3 cookers of large sizes. As my wife’s family is like Mahabharat Gaurava’s family, all utensils were so big that the bottom of the cooker was not visible from the top. Hence, I placed the container inside the cooker. Right then my mother called me. She was brimming with pride. I didn’t know how the news spread like cooking fire !
She asked me about the menu and gave some tips ! I crosschecked my 1,2,3 formula. I searched for lighter or a match stick for half an hour and called my wife thinking how irresponsible she was. She replied “God, I had told you many times, it’s auto ignition”. I slammed the phone down. Cursing myself, went inside and ignited the racket boosters. Again got a call from my brother in law. He uttered some encouraging words like “Why do you cook unnecessarily. Go to Sudha hotel as you always do.” I cut the call. “The society will always mock you when you aim to reach higher goals”.
I returned to the kitchen. Time was ticking like bomb and no whistle. White smoke was fuming. I nervously loitered like pregnant woman and called my mom. She again confirmed 1,2 and 3. When I returned to the kitchen, the white smoke has turned into black and the room was like war zone. If smoke detector had been installed, I would have become world famous and got Oscars for food. All the apartment mates were at my door enquiring why was I celebrating ‘Bogi’ inside my house.
I panicked and switched off the stove and opened the cooker. Whole rice had burnt and the cooker was totally black inside. Safety valve and gasket had evaporated into thin air. The cooker looked as if I had stolen it from Hiroshima. Shell shocked, I stood there feeling numb. Again the phone rang and it was my wife. Whenever a husband wrongs, wife will know. That 7th sense is called Wife’s sense. I was senseless for a second. I told all was well and dropped the phone. I called my mother. I narrated my “Operation Food” in detail. She asked “Did you pour water outside the container?” I sat aghast thinking about my imminent crucification and firing squad.
Next day, I mustered enough courage and told my wife. She consoled me politely saying “Don’t you have at least common sense?” I heard her voice from Salem without phone. I retired from cooking then and there. She keeps that cooker as a souvenir. Till this day, whenever she sees the black cooker she utters “No common sense at all.”
While looking back, If I had poured water outside the container that day who knows, I might have gone on to become a world chef or CM of Tamil Nadu.
