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A generation or two earlier when joint families were prevalent in South Indian Brahmin communities like ours, our male members were innocent of cooking and depended hopelessly on their womenfolk even for a cup of coffee, which as every fan of RKN knows, was more a holy ritual than simple nourishment.
Women loved this dominance of theirs and ridiculed any male forced to burn his fingers (other than professional wedding-cooks who were all able-bodied males since no woman could handle a handi or kadai of 30 kg sabji or sambar without swooning).
The elder 3 brothers of my father (who was the youngest) couldn't cook at all, since they didn't need to: there were enough ladies in their extended households. Indeed the eldest, who lost his wife early, had to depend on hired cooks after every lady in the household got married or passed away (Somerset Maugham in the last para of his Razor's Edge says in his typical sardonic way which cost him a Nobel that both these events make equally good endings for a novel: The interest passes on to the next generation).
The hired cooks exploited the situation and turned ECCPs (Extra-Constitutional Centers of Power...give it to our bureaucrats: they come up with cute things like TPEP for Ten-Point Economic Program; both born in Indirajee's Emergency...the good old heart pines...) .
But by the time my father got married, the Joint Family died giving birth to Nuclear Families.
My father (Bless His Soul!) was a long-suffering man: he had the courage of his wife's convictions.....
And my mother was ultra-orthodox and took leave three days every month, when she would refuse to enter either the Puja or the Kitchen.
So my father learned cooking of sorts willy-nilly and imparted his culinary skills to me while I was an enthusiastic Intern under him from a tender age: first peeling vegetables, then lighting the chulha, then de-mounting the sizzling vessels with the help of a customized torn cloth, and so on till I graduated into a Certified Cook by the time I joined KGP.
Whenever I was shunted to a Qrs against my will there , I had to buy two kerosene Janata Stoves, some vessels, some provisions and try to survive on a modest budget.
But gradually the 4-course dinner would start dwindling to 3, then 2, and then finally ONE khichiri or stew (with everything including rice thrown in). Cooking for oneself and eating alone was not my idea of living at all.
A day would come when I would say: "This far and no further", join Gokhale Hall Mess or Faculty Hostel, after a celebratory hurling of stoves, vessels, coffee pots, ladles, spoons one by one from the Third Floor BF- window at midnight so no one would be disturbed. Miraculously however, when I peeped next morning at dawn down the window, the grass below would be glistening with fresh dew but no trace of the midnight-devilry: such was the efficiency of IIT KGP Rag-Pickers Association (IITKGPRPA).
This ritual repeated thrice: 1. From BF-6; 2. From BF-14; 3. From C-23.
But my reputation as a South Indian Brahmin Cook spread far and wide and my free services were in great demand whenever a group of 5 or 6 forlorn bachelors went on picnics in the Midnapore Forests (now out of bounds) squeezing in the groaning Fiat Millicento of Prof BCB (who much later offered his Antique Centerpiece that had to be declined politely).
We would park under a huge tree; and while the rest did menial jobs like collecting 3 roughly identical stones for a make-shift stove, dried leaves, sticks and hay for fuel, lighting the fire by matchsticks hidden in every pocket, I would be peeling vegetables, cleaning rice, preparing masala for the stew and such specialist stuff.
And discover we forgot to bring salt.
A Hunt Party would then take off in the Millicento for the nearest hamlet where they would explain our plight to the comely tribal housewife in a dumb charade and finally succeed in getting some rock-salt.
And everyone would slurp and eat heartily...it is wisely said: "Deprived Sleep cares for no Bed and Deprived Hunger cares for no Taste". I would have added: "Deprived Love cares for no Beauty" were I not this Paragon of Modesty.
Eventually VR got married and had a wonderfully set-up kitchen where his Mrs ruled like a Queen and once in a while threw home-cooked dinners for his erstwhile starving bachelor friends.
Whenever she was away, the old bachelors would regroup there for a stag-party and would requisition my services as an expert cook.
The mod kitchen was at first new to me and led to several mishaps; but VR, the Chemical Engineer, would be handsomely supportive.
One night, while VR was chatting up his guests and boosting up their morale with glasses of clean gin (I was ever a teetotaler...alcohol makes me sober), I mistook his glass of gin for water and poured it into the thick sambar boiling on the stove on its diluting mission.
When he eventually returned and was looking for his gin, VR found water instead. I realized my goof-up, felt very sorry, and was wondering how the sambar would be going to taste. But VR with his ChE expertise comforted me saying that the gin would have evaporated leaving no trace much before it could do any mischief, and poured his glass of water into the vessel...and everything was fine in the end (these ChE guys know their Fractional Distillation lessons).
There was another bloomer the same night.
I picked up a good-looking stout vessel, poured cooking oil into it, lifted it onto the gas high-burner, lighted it and went out for a puff of smoke. By the time I returned in a few long seconds to resume my frying, I discovered that someone had stolen the vessel from my stove. Upon an Inquisition everyone pleaded their stout alibis. And it was becoming a Poe Mystery.
Then VR joined me and asked me which vessel I took down. On examining the Pots & Vessels almirah, and by a rigorous process of elimination of the impossible vs improbable, he smiled wanly like Sherlock Holmes and said; "My dear Watson, look below the gas stove and you will find your missing vessel in a blessed heap".
And lo! It was there, all of a solid shiny shapeless mass. While I was wondering what could have brought down the good-looking vessel into such an awful mess, VR announced: "Elementary, Watson, you have taken out the Rasam Vessel made of lead and used it for frying!".
Apparently Rasam tastes very tangy when made in lead vessels; but since the Melting Point of lead is so low compared to brass, iron or steel, the gas burner would melt it up when it is used for frying; the Boiling Point of cooking oil being so much higher....it should be used to boil water, but not for deep-frying.
I was feeling so desperately ashamed and was wondering what his Mrs would say, when VR announced: "There is nothing to worry...we will simply scoop out the solid mass of lead, go to the Vessel-Maker in Gole Bazaar and he would shape it back @ Rs 10. Remember that you only melted the Rasam vessel...not boiled it away!!!"
Such jolly good old sports Mrs & Prof VR were.... "May Their Souls Rest in Peace!"
...Posted by Ishani
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A generation or two earlier when joint families were prevalent in South Indian Brahmin communities like ours, our male members were innocent of cooking and depended hopelessly on their womenfolk even for a cup of coffee, which as every fan of RKN knows, was more a holy ritual than simple nourishment.
Women loved this dominance of theirs and ridiculed any male forced to burn his fingers (other than professional wedding-cooks who were all able-bodied males since no woman could handle a handi or kadai of 30 kg sabji or sambar without swooning).
The elder 3 brothers of my father (who was the youngest) couldn't cook at all, since they didn't need to: there were enough ladies in their extended households. Indeed the eldest, who lost his wife early, had to depend on hired cooks after every lady in the household got married or passed away (Somerset Maugham in the last para of his Razor's Edge says in his typical sardonic way which cost him a Nobel that both these events make equally good endings for a novel: The interest passes on to the next generation).
The hired cooks exploited the situation and turned ECCPs (Extra-Constitutional Centers of Power...give it to our bureaucrats: they come up with cute things like TPEP for Ten-Point Economic Program; both born in Indirajee's Emergency...the good old heart pines...) .
But by the time my father got married, the Joint Family died giving birth to Nuclear Families.
My father (Bless His Soul!) was a long-suffering man: he had the courage of his wife's convictions.....
And my mother was ultra-orthodox and took leave three days every month, when she would refuse to enter either the Puja or the Kitchen.
So my father learned cooking of sorts willy-nilly and imparted his culinary skills to me while I was an enthusiastic Intern under him from a tender age: first peeling vegetables, then lighting the chulha, then de-mounting the sizzling vessels with the help of a customized torn cloth, and so on till I graduated into a Certified Cook by the time I joined KGP.
Whenever I was shunted to a Qrs against my will there , I had to buy two kerosene Janata Stoves, some vessels, some provisions and try to survive on a modest budget.
But gradually the 4-course dinner would start dwindling to 3, then 2, and then finally ONE khichiri or stew (with everything including rice thrown in). Cooking for oneself and eating alone was not my idea of living at all.
A day would come when I would say: "This far and no further", join Gokhale Hall Mess or Faculty Hostel, after a celebratory hurling of stoves, vessels, coffee pots, ladles, spoons one by one from the Third Floor BF- window at midnight so no one would be disturbed. Miraculously however, when I peeped next morning at dawn down the window, the grass below would be glistening with fresh dew but no trace of the midnight-devilry: such was the efficiency of IIT KGP Rag-Pickers Association (IITKGPRPA).
This ritual repeated thrice: 1. From BF-6; 2. From BF-14; 3. From C-23.
But my reputation as a South Indian Brahmin Cook spread far and wide and my free services were in great demand whenever a group of 5 or 6 forlorn bachelors went on picnics in the Midnapore Forests (now out of bounds) squeezing in the groaning Fiat Millicento of Prof BCB (who much later offered his Antique Centerpiece that had to be declined politely).
We would park under a huge tree; and while the rest did menial jobs like collecting 3 roughly identical stones for a make-shift stove, dried leaves, sticks and hay for fuel, lighting the fire by matchsticks hidden in every pocket, I would be peeling vegetables, cleaning rice, preparing masala for the stew and such specialist stuff.
And discover we forgot to bring salt.
A Hunt Party would then take off in the Millicento for the nearest hamlet where they would explain our plight to the comely tribal housewife in a dumb charade and finally succeed in getting some rock-salt.
And everyone would slurp and eat heartily...it is wisely said: "Deprived Sleep cares for no Bed and Deprived Hunger cares for no Taste". I would have added: "Deprived Love cares for no Beauty" were I not this Paragon of Modesty.
Eventually VR got married and had a wonderfully set-up kitchen where his Mrs ruled like a Queen and once in a while threw home-cooked dinners for his erstwhile starving bachelor friends.
Whenever she was away, the old bachelors would regroup there for a stag-party and would requisition my services as an expert cook.
The mod kitchen was at first new to me and led to several mishaps; but VR, the Chemical Engineer, would be handsomely supportive.
One night, while VR was chatting up his guests and boosting up their morale with glasses of clean gin (I was ever a teetotaler...alcohol makes me sober), I mistook his glass of gin for water and poured it into the thick sambar boiling on the stove on its diluting mission.
When he eventually returned and was looking for his gin, VR found water instead. I realized my goof-up, felt very sorry, and was wondering how the sambar would be going to taste. But VR with his ChE expertise comforted me saying that the gin would have evaporated leaving no trace much before it could do any mischief, and poured his glass of water into the vessel...and everything was fine in the end (these ChE guys know their Fractional Distillation lessons).
There was another bloomer the same night.
I picked up a good-looking stout vessel, poured cooking oil into it, lifted it onto the gas high-burner, lighted it and went out for a puff of smoke. By the time I returned in a few long seconds to resume my frying, I discovered that someone had stolen the vessel from my stove. Upon an Inquisition everyone pleaded their stout alibis. And it was becoming a Poe Mystery.
Then VR joined me and asked me which vessel I took down. On examining the Pots & Vessels almirah, and by a rigorous process of elimination of the impossible vs improbable, he smiled wanly like Sherlock Holmes and said; "My dear Watson, look below the gas stove and you will find your missing vessel in a blessed heap".
And lo! It was there, all of a solid shiny shapeless mass. While I was wondering what could have brought down the good-looking vessel into such an awful mess, VR announced: "Elementary, Watson, you have taken out the Rasam Vessel made of lead and used it for frying!".
Apparently Rasam tastes very tangy when made in lead vessels; but since the Melting Point of lead is so low compared to brass, iron or steel, the gas burner would melt it up when it is used for frying; the Boiling Point of cooking oil being so much higher....it should be used to boil water, but not for deep-frying.
I was feeling so desperately ashamed and was wondering what his Mrs would say, when VR announced: "There is nothing to worry...we will simply scoop out the solid mass of lead, go to the Vessel-Maker in Gole Bazaar and he would shape it back @ Rs 10. Remember that you only melted the Rasam vessel...not boiled it away!!!"
Such jolly good old sports Mrs & Prof VR were.... "May Their Souls Rest in Peace!"
...Posted by Ishani
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