Living alone and multitasking has always been there, more in cities. Using the kitchen when you live alone is very boring. Especially cooking and eating yourself. But then how long can one escape. Times are there when he is around, my brother. And its always a joy to cook and eat. But whether there is some one or no, the Me and Kitchen interface is always happening. Some times interesting, sometimes nasty, sometimes dangerous and sometimes good.
Not many things to remember, but yes there are small everyday incidents and accidents- cutting the finger while chopping vegetables, burning your hand , the vessel slipping off the grips of the tong, the over-roasted chapati or the dosa that refused to leave the non stick tawa, the overflowing water from the filter or for that matter the spilt ghee- sticky and tacky to clean!
But then there are always some incidents worth remembering.
When I bought the microwave, all excited, my siblings and me, having wanted to use it and see what had it to offer put a potato in and saw it cook in five minutes. Happy about our successful venture we went on to try the next recipe from the user manual. This time cut a potato into pieces and kept it on to grill. Happily in all excitement we discussed and celebrated and waited. Soon, a smell started filling the room and to our surprise the pieces had all burnt and gone….what ever was left wasn’t worth to be eaten.
Boiling milk has always been a tricky proposition. As if the milk is all set, one more time to put me in a delusional state of confidence. Every time, and I say, every time, I have stood there, it never rose, never. And having taken me into confidence as if saying, “ I shall take some more minutes to rise!” and forcing me to choose to put away my attention, it deceivingly has risen to overflow…..all over. And even if I have chosen to put it on sim, it has always over boiled to its best, never making me realise that the right time has long come and gone!
But then beyond these I can remember, no, remember is the wrong word! I should say, I can’t forget! Yes, beyond these, I can’t forget something more.
It was a cold Sunday afternoon. I sat there in the bedroom, reading. He was playing Chess, all alone. Suddenly I saw black clouds entering my hall.....was it a dream, was it an imagination of a poet's mind or just a hallucination! I took three seconds to realise. My kitchen was on Fire!
I had kept the kadhai on Fire with a spoon of oil in it. Had planned to splutter mustard and cumin, once hot. Somehow between the heating of oil and me adding the raw mustard, I had walked into the bedroom and got seduced by the book that I was already reading….. had forgotten the oil in the kadhai.
Black clouds floated in the hall, from the kitchen, when I remembered. I entered the smoke to see the vessel on fire. Aaaaaaahhhhhh. Sooooon, put off the gas and lifted the wok and kept it under running water in the sink. Opened the windows, the veranda door, the bedroom windows. The fans rotated in full to flee away the smoke. In five minutes things came back to what they were before, but prominently altering the kitchen…
The Sugar jar on the sill had melted and added sugar to the burning wok. The Salt jar had melted and added salt to the rising fire. The chilly powder jar was open on two sides, its lid now one with its remaining body. Rest of the plastics (jars) were deformed. Metals coated with black soot. The white tiles too turned dark.
What about the wok? It was kept under water for further treatment. My maid tried her best. On the fourth day when nothing could be done, it was discarded.
