Chinks In The Armour

Some enlightening laws that govern us have defined the past month. Legislated with noble intentions, most have become rather difficult to implement.

Smoking in public, storing a few liquor bottles and raising noise levels are not the only ones that ensure free ka khana peena in Tiharland. Come to think of it, considering the economic conditions a holiday behind the bars is not such a bad idea.

No bills. No income-tax. No mother-in-law. No wife. And no tele-callers. Absolute peace. The plan works.
No, it doesn’t?
Sometimes, only sometimes, the police are not interested in the common man. Go try lighting a ciggy in a public place. You may end up burning your lungs but the cops won’t bother. Unless of course, they need a bottle for the night. Legal notices will be slapped, only if you are a Shah Rukh or a Ranbir Kapoor. Kanoon ke haath bahut lame ..oops lambe hote hain.

Another way to enjoy a jail stint is to store liquor bottles at home. The Mumbai excise department raided the home of a 55-year-old Priti Chandriani for possessing liquor for making chocolates at home. Priti was detained and later granted bail. Making liquor chocolates is Priti’s hobby. She said, “I have never seen a raid in my life. We are law abiding citizens and to have excise officials turn up at our house and conduct raids is a trauma for us that we will never forget. And just because we have a bar, it doesn’t mean we drink every day.”

Even if she does, does it make her a criminal?

Not only did the Excise department seize bottles of alcohol, they also took away her recipe books. I have been rattling my brain and would appreciate any help from readers. Why do you think they confiscated her recipe books?

A. Being responsible cops they wanted to prevent Priti from making more chocolates.
B. They wanted to participate in the coming season of Master Chef.
C. They wanted to gift the recipe books to their wives.
D. They wanted to master the procedure for concocting drinks…especially Aamsutra.

Keep guessing. There are no prizes.
Interestingly there is another law which when put into practice can twist knickers. Under the Environment Protection Act, you are liable to be arrested if you raise noise levels above 55 decibels outdoors and above 45 decibels indoors. Considering the fact that Indians are infamous for their loud behavior, this appears to be the most sensible law of the land. Only the cops need to be equipped with decibel meters.
You can lose temper and scream at your spouse. If the cops arrive, say your noise level was 44 decibels, one short of violating the law. Let them prove it.

A caveat. This law does not apply:
A. In the 'Times Now' studio.
B. In Parliament.
C. To the noise created by horns, crackers, denting, drilling and loudspeakers. Religious places are also excluded. You can burst eardrums, create chaos, block roads, create nuisance in the name of religion. Anytime.Anywhere.
D. To Rakhee Sawant.

Forget about archaic laws, some new laws are equally difficult to implement. Kapil Sibal, the moral police commissioner has assured that anyone who refers to the North East residents as Ch***i will be put behind the bars. Fair enough. More power to his eyebrow… oops …. elbow.

Undoubtedly the C word is a deplorable racist slur and any such slur which demeans any citizen should be condemned. Racism against North East is a reality. In fact so ingrained is the racist culture that most college students and even teachers use the C word for people with mongoloid features.

How many of us can differentiate between people from Nepal, Meghalaya, China, Bhutan or Arunachal?
My problem is again with the implementation the law.
Let us say, a NE resident complains to Haryanavi cop about someone uttering the C word. For a cop who cannot differentiate between Bhaichung Bhutia and the King of Bhutan, the perils of comprehending the nuances of this law are insurmountable.

Ask a local cop if Mary Kom will win a medal for India, he is likely to retort, “Meri KAUN?”

The point is that sending people to jail will not solve issues of racial profiling. Perhaps integration and addressing other issues of development will. Also, five years is way too long for a slip of the tongue unless you are planning to complete your degree in jail by distance learning. And what about the Mallu, Gujju, Sardar, Bihari and Bhaiyya jokes?

Undoubtedly, banning, prohibiting and sending people to jail are options; but not necessarily the best ones.

Birthdays, Gifts and Growing-Up

“How can I possibly surprise him?” It is his 21st birthday. Gadgets, gizmos, garments - all need his approval. Chocolates are fattening, birthday-cards impersonal and toys redundant. It is pointless to spend money on unwanted stuff. Also at a time when he is about to start earning, a gift seems trivial.

Scanning some of his childhood pictures and posting them on Facebook as a collage sounds like a good idea. What if my indulgent act invites some banter from his friends? Not that I was intending to post his pictures dressed as a girl. No, not even the nangu-pangu pictures. Yet any toddler picture held the potential of inviting some teasers from his peers. But what the heck! Isn’t the delete button a blessing?
I spend the day selecting old pictures and struggle with the scanner (I am terribly tech challenged) to upload some memorable ones. Each picture brings back a rush of memories - memories which glide by like monsoon clouds.

It is ironical how we want our children to grow up and when they do, we want them to turn into kids again. How we want them to conquer the world and when they go globetrotting, we wish they never left home.

The old pictures present a nostalgic texture of a lost childhood.

As a kid, his birthday countdown began a month ago. “Ma…how many days left?” Then counting on the tender fingers, he would whine, “Tsk.. tsk …I have to wait for X days and Y hours.”

The birthday celebrations were fun. There was cake to be baked, balloons to be blown and food to be cooked; it used to be a day against which I re-lived my long lost birthday parties. I had a tough time saving the cake before the formal cake cutting. “One bite please,” he would beg. I remember losing temper when I once caught him unwrapping gifts while the guests were having dinner. As I go down the memory lane, his initial birthday gifts were mostly clothes and toys. Later on the gifts included a small blue guitar, a cricket bat, Harry Potter book, , an iPod……. I think it was a Nike football on his sixteenth birthday. The last gift was a mobile phone on the eighteenth birthday.

“What do you want for your birthday?” I had asked him last year.
“I am not a baby.” 

So no birthday present this year again. I did bake a cake. But that’s it. It is past ten in the morning. I peep excitedly in his room. Want to ruffle his hair. No, he doesn’t like anyone touching his hair now. As he tosses and turns, I shout ‘happy birthday’.

“Get up….people are calling to wish you. See, I baked a chocolate cake for you,” I chirp.

“Relax…ma. It’s only a birthday,” and he goes off to snooze some more.

Times change!

Karma Cuisine

Karma Cuisine

News is that model Joey Mathews is all set to become desi Nigella Lawson on a cookery show called ‘Love Bites with Joey’. We get the hint. The show is aimed at tantalizing taste buds among other things. Women have that edge when it comes to cookery shows. If men indulge in suggestive cooking, the show has all the chances of becoming vulgar. 

Sample this: “Aww, look at this…! Absolutely amazing! Wow! “I simply love this…splendid…hmm…heavenly! Yes, Yes!!”

What do you think?

Well, this is a male chef exulting on a television cookery show (NDTV Good Times). 

And guess what was cooking?

 ‘Doodhi Halwa’ (Bottle gourd pudding). 

Sorry chef, but the halwa looked yucky! The finger licking was a waste. And the generous sprinkling of pistachios didn’t help either!

A delicious tele-tyranny is the unabashed self-admiration by the chefs. Agreed, that all the ‘Ahhs’ and the ‘Oohs’ help the viewer to salivate and to come back asking for more.But for me, there are other serious issues. For starters, the irony of my cooking is that I have been accused of watching too many cookery shows . The outcome has never been worth the effort. 

 “It’s nice. But not like the one they showed on TV,” says my son. “Ma…why can’t you cook like them?”

I am tempted to ask, “And when did you taste the one cooked on TV?”

As I look towards the husband for some generous helping, “Well tried,” is all I get.

I recognize he’s winging it.  The consequence is evident when no one opts for a second helping. Insist, and both complain of flatulence.

Worse! The pot luck lunches have become my nemesis. The ladies sense my dilemma. They refrain from assigning me the task of cooking any exotic dish. Almost invariably, I get to cook rice. No peach puddings or avocado dumplings for me. 

Why am I sulking? I can very well, stick to dal, roti and forget all about exotic cooking. Well, since food continues to have a visceral hold on most of us and with my social reputation at stake, my culinary clumsiness hurts.

What irks me is the fact that the recipes churned by the celebrity chefs’ on television are always delectable - never over-cooked, never over-salted and never over-fried. Unlike the celebrity chefs, I am unable dress my culinary creations in hyperbole. Also when I am about to add those dollops of butter or a generous spoon of cashew paste, the high triglyceride levels restrain my hand. What is with these damn triglycerides? Like inflation, they refuse to go down. 

Another advantage that the television chefs have is that they don’t have to answer doorbells, update status messages or attend phone calls while they are in the midst of cooking sessions. With all the ingredients washed, diced and chopped already, it is easy to waltz in the kitchen and finish preparing three dishes in thirty minutes flat - including the commercial breaks. I would love to watch these chefs straddle their cooking with the maid, the kids, the husband, the electrician and the courier guy - all vying for attention at the same time. Their boast is sure to be deflated like my chocolate cakes. 

Despite odds, my struggle to dish out absolutely divine food continues. I will continue to stew in my misery, than trim expectations. Perhaps watching the lovely Joey Mathews will pump up the jam. 

A word of advice for Joey Mathews  - Do your own thing. Don’t copy Nigella. She isn’t referred to as the British Goddess of cookery for nothing. And ‘Oohing’ and ‘Aahhing’ is not the only recipe for success.