<p>“I can’t cook to save my life. I can’t even properly boil a glass of water,” my cousin announced when I asked her to help me prepare lunch. “I have a full-time domestic help to do all the household chores,” she bragged. Both of us being from middleclass families, I frowned at the luxury. Would she have had enjoyed these privileges, had she been living in the West where such services come at a premium, I wondered, and where even President Barack Obama is expected to help around the house by his wife Michelle.<br /><br /></p>.<p>Having to prepare three meals a day every day, cooking is a rigmarole. And I am no Annapoorna, the goddess of food in the Hindu pantheon of gods. I call it a necessary evil. But somebody has to do it and I do it. And it feels good, if one is complimented for one’s culinary skills. “This is your aunt’s signature dish. You have inherited her legacy,” my husband would often remark, burping out loudly after a hearty meal. <br />My aunt, my father’s widowed sister who lived with us during our formative years was, incidentally, a great cook. I can’t conjure up magic with food the way she did, though. I remember feasting on home-made savouries specific to various festivities when she was in-charge of the kitchen. The canned rossogollas and packed barfis we order now during occasions pale in front of the heavenly Mysore pak with home-made ghee and the crisp golden fritters she painstakingly prepared. <br /><br />However, while cooking at home, as a rule one tends to keep it simple, thus keeping junk food at bay which is such a pain to make. This tendency to naturally gravitate towards fuss-free dishes is in-built in the process itself because oily, fried food takes up such a lot of one’s time and effort. Instead of sweating it out in the kitchen preparing that greasy choley–bhature, one would rather opt for a simple dal-chawal. Makes perfect sense, isn’t it? <br /><br />“You were so lovingly fed by your aunt, now it’s your to do the same for your son,” my husband would argue. It may sound like a self-serving logic to some and I know, by now many an independent thinking feminist may be up in arms against me. But is ‘independence’ really about depending on someone for something as basic as food? <br />I shudder to think about waiting for a paid help for my three square meals every day. We need not prepare for ourselves everything that goes into our mouths but hey, if one has to, then one’s got to. At this point, I would like to draw in the men into this endeavour and make the kitchens wait for them too.<br /></p>
<p>“I can’t cook to save my life. I can’t even properly boil a glass of water,” my cousin announced when I asked her to help me prepare lunch. “I have a full-time domestic help to do all the household chores,” she bragged. Both of us being from middleclass families, I frowned at the luxury. Would she have had enjoyed these privileges, had she been living in the West where such services come at a premium, I wondered, and where even President Barack Obama is expected to help around the house by his wife Michelle.<br /><br /></p>.<p>Having to prepare three meals a day every day, cooking is a rigmarole. And I am no Annapoorna, the goddess of food in the Hindu pantheon of gods. I call it a necessary evil. But somebody has to do it and I do it. And it feels good, if one is complimented for one’s culinary skills. “This is your aunt’s signature dish. You have inherited her legacy,” my husband would often remark, burping out loudly after a hearty meal. <br />My aunt, my father’s widowed sister who lived with us during our formative years was, incidentally, a great cook. I can’t conjure up magic with food the way she did, though. I remember feasting on home-made savouries specific to various festivities when she was in-charge of the kitchen. The canned rossogollas and packed barfis we order now during occasions pale in front of the heavenly Mysore pak with home-made ghee and the crisp golden fritters she painstakingly prepared. <br /><br />However, while cooking at home, as a rule one tends to keep it simple, thus keeping junk food at bay which is such a pain to make. This tendency to naturally gravitate towards fuss-free dishes is in-built in the process itself because oily, fried food takes up such a lot of one’s time and effort. Instead of sweating it out in the kitchen preparing that greasy choley–bhature, one would rather opt for a simple dal-chawal. Makes perfect sense, isn’t it? <br /><br />“You were so lovingly fed by your aunt, now it’s your to do the same for your son,” my husband would argue. It may sound like a self-serving logic to some and I know, by now many an independent thinking feminist may be up in arms against me. But is ‘independence’ really about depending on someone for something as basic as food? <br />I shudder to think about waiting for a paid help for my three square meals every day. We need not prepare for ourselves everything that goes into our mouths but hey, if one has to, then one’s got to. At this point, I would like to draw in the men into this endeavour and make the kitchens wait for them too.<br /></p>
