<p>Three months into the eternal Mumbai lockdown, I hit the proverbial wall. Preparing a full Indian meal for lunch daily in the heat and humidity, while trying to write and meet deadlines, and not knowing when our cook would be able to return, drained all my motivation. I had a mini meltdown.</p>.<p>Until that point, I was one of those annoying people who posted photos of all the fabulous new dishes they were making on social media. People thought I was passionate about cooking. I almost convinced myself that I was. After all, I believe that if I have to do something, I should do it well and learn from it. Truth is, I don’t enjoy cooking. I never have. It exhausts me and I find it stressful. Initially, it was satisfying to serve <span class="italic">health bhi</span>,<span class="italic"> taste bhi</span> meals every day. Eventually, I came to view it as a test of endurance. In the end, I realised I couldn’t keep up the domestic goddess act while working. Something had to give. So, I spoke the unspeakable. I told my (Indian) husband he’d be getting sandwiches for lunch.</p>.<p>Much to my surprise, it was the incentive needed for transformative things to happen in the kitchen. My husband started cooking. Within a few days, the guy who couldn’t even boil an egg when I met him was churning out delicious Indian food with more finesse than me. All it took was a couple of demonstrations, the assistance of YouTube videos, and the hardest bit -- me to relinquish control of the kitchen. Though I’ve always considered myself to be independent and equal to men, paradoxically I regarded cooking as my responsibility. After all, I was more experienced and competent. It made sense that I should do it. Since I came from a traditional household where my mum excelled at being a homemaker, I thought I could emulate her. Moreover, I also doubted my husband’s culinary abilities. He was helpful at cutting vegetables but how could he possibly cope with complicated masala combinations and various preparation techniques?</p>.<p>Lockdown has, unfortunately, heaped household responsibilities onto women. This recently prompted one overwhelmed Indian wife to petition Prime Minister Modi to encourage men to do an equal share of the housework. The petition has apparently gathered almost 70,000 signatures so far, confirming the magnitude of the issue. Yet, the harsh reality is that uncooperative men aren’t always the problem. There are women who aren’t comfortable asking for support, or who are empowered by being indispensible (<span class="italic">husbands, you should feel lucky to have us, unlike those poor bachelors left to fend for themselves</span>), or who think only they are capable of doing a good enough job.</p>.<p>As it turned out, my husband coped just fine in the kitchen, despite my misgivings. He made mistakes, as expected, but displayed impressive patience and creativity. On the one hand, I’m extremely grateful. On the other hand, I grapple with misplaced sensations of failure and inadequacy, though achieving domestic greatness has never been one of my aspirations. I imagine it would be worse for women whose self-worth is tied to the performance of domestic duties. This gives rise to a conundrum -- there’s a perception that men are ashamed of cooking. Likewise, there are women who are ashamed to let them cook. There’s another perception that cooking isn’t “manly”. Likewise, there are women who assume men are too “manly” to be able to cook properly. </p>.<p>I’m glad I gave my husband a chance to shine. He feels good about himself for easing my burden and gaining a new skill. His mother is thrilled at his progress as well. I’m left questioning my usefulness, but unlike the threat of sandwiches, it’s not compelling enough to get me back into the kitchen full-time!</p>
<p>Three months into the eternal Mumbai lockdown, I hit the proverbial wall. Preparing a full Indian meal for lunch daily in the heat and humidity, while trying to write and meet deadlines, and not knowing when our cook would be able to return, drained all my motivation. I had a mini meltdown.</p>.<p>Until that point, I was one of those annoying people who posted photos of all the fabulous new dishes they were making on social media. People thought I was passionate about cooking. I almost convinced myself that I was. After all, I believe that if I have to do something, I should do it well and learn from it. Truth is, I don’t enjoy cooking. I never have. It exhausts me and I find it stressful. Initially, it was satisfying to serve <span class="italic">health bhi</span>,<span class="italic"> taste bhi</span> meals every day. Eventually, I came to view it as a test of endurance. In the end, I realised I couldn’t keep up the domestic goddess act while working. Something had to give. So, I spoke the unspeakable. I told my (Indian) husband he’d be getting sandwiches for lunch.</p>.<p>Much to my surprise, it was the incentive needed for transformative things to happen in the kitchen. My husband started cooking. Within a few days, the guy who couldn’t even boil an egg when I met him was churning out delicious Indian food with more finesse than me. All it took was a couple of demonstrations, the assistance of YouTube videos, and the hardest bit -- me to relinquish control of the kitchen. Though I’ve always considered myself to be independent and equal to men, paradoxically I regarded cooking as my responsibility. After all, I was more experienced and competent. It made sense that I should do it. Since I came from a traditional household where my mum excelled at being a homemaker, I thought I could emulate her. Moreover, I also doubted my husband’s culinary abilities. He was helpful at cutting vegetables but how could he possibly cope with complicated masala combinations and various preparation techniques?</p>.<p>Lockdown has, unfortunately, heaped household responsibilities onto women. This recently prompted one overwhelmed Indian wife to petition Prime Minister Modi to encourage men to do an equal share of the housework. The petition has apparently gathered almost 70,000 signatures so far, confirming the magnitude of the issue. Yet, the harsh reality is that uncooperative men aren’t always the problem. There are women who aren’t comfortable asking for support, or who are empowered by being indispensible (<span class="italic">husbands, you should feel lucky to have us, unlike those poor bachelors left to fend for themselves</span>), or who think only they are capable of doing a good enough job.</p>.<p>As it turned out, my husband coped just fine in the kitchen, despite my misgivings. He made mistakes, as expected, but displayed impressive patience and creativity. On the one hand, I’m extremely grateful. On the other hand, I grapple with misplaced sensations of failure and inadequacy, though achieving domestic greatness has never been one of my aspirations. I imagine it would be worse for women whose self-worth is tied to the performance of domestic duties. This gives rise to a conundrum -- there’s a perception that men are ashamed of cooking. Likewise, there are women who are ashamed to let them cook. There’s another perception that cooking isn’t “manly”. Likewise, there are women who assume men are too “manly” to be able to cook properly. </p>.<p>I’m glad I gave my husband a chance to shine. He feels good about himself for easing my burden and gaining a new skill. His mother is thrilled at his progress as well. I’m left questioning my usefulness, but unlike the threat of sandwiches, it’s not compelling enough to get me back into the kitchen full-time!</p>