a take ? double

Food- that very reviled thing ( in modern times at least) – yet the very essence of core, something that not only shapes our physical form, nourishes our souls but also colors our sensibilities and gives form 2 our emotional health. A sprinkling of rain (like suddenly yesterday) and I run to make pakoras or want 2 dish up spicy jhaal- mudi. A fever and the quintessential Indian soul craves not for chicken soup but hot, piping mush- mush, green- moong khichadi or waran –bhaat with a dollop of ghee (the marathi version)- comfort food at its best. (Vimal, do u remember how often we would stay on at ur place just 2 sup on marvelous, sigri- smoke flavoured akkhi moong daal khichadi with an array of pickles laid out delectably to spice things up?). We chat over endless cups of chai (cutting or otherwise), a lot can happen over coffee (even if it doesn’t, there’s always hope and just the all-pervading aroma in the coffee shop is enuff 2 put u into a caffeine haze!), our camaderie is better defined over fish-fry and tandoori chicken and of course our romances r enhanced by loads of chocolate and wine. When happy we want to gather our friends around and cook up a feast, the proverbial way to a mans heart goes not thru his unimaginative mind but rather deviously and circuitously thru his stomach and babying ur children always, but always means making the poor infant almost choke on whatever her/his mother thinks is good 4 her/ him.

When sad, ur serotonin plunging, u need that chocolate high -nothing works better than chewing on a large slab of bitter chocolate. Guys may swear by more bacchanalian fare but believe me, theobromine is truly the food of the gods. When disappointed in love, leave that bottle aside and slobber ur way thru cocoa heaven instead! Ur warring qualities r stoked when served bad food at a restaurant ( fess up-haven’t all of us fought with the waiter at some time?)When truly, not- had- time- 4 -breakfast, stomach- growlingly hungry, u want sustaining subzi-roti, not some fancy 5-star dish. And nothing will make a host/ hostess puff up like the proverbial peacock than sincere praise for the food.

Ur memories are awakened by aromas, textures and of course the taste of food. A stray culinary experience sticks like a paper flying in the wind, defining a moment, a person. BAM station 4 me is always associated with puris and that undefinable quality aloo- subzi dished out by Khan Uncle. New-Market in Calcutta will always conjure up the mustardy tang of jhaal- mudi, its undercurrents of chilli exploding unexpectedly in fiery pockets of delight on ur tongue. Winter evenings bring back the warmth of Bibiya’s phulkas puffed importantly, just off the coals and cauliflower bhaji. Cakes can only b made by ashu- buttery, melt in the mouth and abs delicious ( I hate all ready made 1s)- I am too much of a coward when it comes to putting in the butter! And 4 us food also defines our cultural boundaries, our dos and donts, our taboos.

Our professions sometimes dictate what we eat and how we cook it. I wince when the oil is doled out in tablespoons, will go willingly 4 a fresh green salad and am limited in my vocabulary of tikkis, puris and bhaturas. We express snobbery and try and make class distinctions with our choice of food ( the caviar is beluga, my deah!) and jhunka- bhakar sounds so down- market though it will beat the aforesaid hands down any day. My dahi bhallas r airy perfections, not the doughy rocks that Mrs. K passes off in poor imitation.

We jealously guard our recipes ( oh yes the celeb chefs r also guilty of this vain stupidity, so pl don’t smirk men). We will give our hubbies killer looks if he praises some 1 else’s cooking- I have a frd who feeds her hubby at home even when invited 4 dinner and sweet revenge was mine when once he also gorged on my paani- puris despite this ploy( eat ur heart out!). I belong 2 that wonderful class of people who combine qualities of an indifferent cook with that of an avid eater- never happier than when someone has cooked up a culinary storm 4 me! And woefully when I travel, despite cosmo pretentions, the novelty of foreign fare pales within 4-5 days and my tummy rebels, my mind starts fantasizing abt subzi-daal roti and my soul wilts, forlornly awaiting Indian shores and its plethora of basic, gud food.

The west does not cook, it assembles! The Indian mind, cunning with subtleties thinks up intricate foods – dishes that require imagination in their conception, masterful manual dexterity in their execution and undercurrents of spices that defy deciphering. The English show their character in their food- pitifully un-imaginative suet pudding, kidney pie (can we use something other than the poor animal’s excretory organs pl?) and the thought of alien tongue on my tongue is def reason 4 gagging! The French have ensured that the small portions that they dish out in such style cannot b understood by any1 else, giving them a superior edge. The Chinese r slippery customers- think slithery noodles being picked up by improbable chopsticks and am sure will try 2 swallow us whole like they do the noodles!

Our blog is no different- F bhai reg posts foodie pics, dishy Seetha’s thanksgiving is dominated by other dishes, Nargis when muah-muahing is not air-kissing in socialite mode but delighting in the muaa and what do I demand of sarita when a frd from sangli hops across 2 bhub? My pound of chena-podo- pitha! And when the SVCians meet, what do they blog abt afterwards? If it’s an all mens meet, the men will extol the virtues of wine, if not women- the former loosens their poor tangled tongues, while we may only do that 4 their purse-strings! Vims does not write home abt Abhas memories, what she wore or what Vani and Meenaxi said. He posts photos of tikkis, puris and droolingly the paani. And of course as u can see I am back with a wordy, long-winded vengeance!