Way to cook.

As much as I love that feeling you get when you complete an article, proof read it and then sit back satisfied, I just could not think of anything to write. For the last few days this disturbing revelation had been torturing me - that it has been almost an year since I actually wrote something. So, today when I opened this blog for the umpteenth in the last few days, I decided that I should actually make some effort to overcome this difficult phase rather than whining about it. And to write about something, you need to know about that something. Owing to my pathetic general awareness about any other topic and congenital self obsession (though I've not written much about myself and I'm not planning to make it a habit either), I decided to write about me.

No, don't panic. I'm not gonna bore you with the conversations of my inner self with itself. But yeah, these are a few things that I don't mind sharing if you don't mind listening.  It's about this amazing bond that I share with this passion of mine.

I've always loved cooking and as far as I remember, always is from 2nd or 3rd grade. It was not part of my future plans then. But by the time I was 15, I had this new option in my list of career possibilities – being a chef. Well, my parents in the beginning weren't really sure about it being the best option for me,. But it was my thousand uncles and aunts and cousins and neighbors who made it a point to tell me that it was a stupid idea and that the scope for a girl to thrive in that testosterone dominated world was minuscule.

So when I had an option of choosing Culinary studies over a safer trade after graduating from school, I chickened out. Though I am ashamed of this fact, I would never call that a mistake I made in life because that one year in Christ University, Bangalore was totally worth it. New friends, first time in a hostel, totally different culture, our share of stupid fun and how can I forget the huge amount of life lessons that came with it! But when you are destined to be something or someone, and you really really want that thing, it has a way of coming to you and once you decide to go with it, the changes will be drastic and risky and uncertain. But if you have awesome family and friends like mine and a thousand Disney movies to ensure you that “All Is gonna be Well”, things shouldn't be tough.

Currently, I'm doing my Bachelor's degree in Hospitality and Hotel administration in Institute of Hotel Management and Catering technology, Mumbai previously (and even now locally ) known as Dadar Catering college. And yes, I'm happy now. I'm happy about the fact that what I'm doing is what I always wanted to do. About the fact that when I'm old and guilty and in case my life is crappy, I won't feel that I failed because I refused to take risks and decided to play it safe.

I like it here. I like it that I have to work my ass off everyday in the college. I like Mondays when I have to go to the kitchen super early and work for hours straight. Cuts and burns and steam and heat and chefs shouting at you. And the adrenaline rush. It's like the hell I'd like to call my heaven. And the best feeling is when you come back home and fall onto the bed drained but satisfied.

Well, what is gonna come of me once I get out of the institute is different. I might not be hired at all. I might be very bad at it if at all I'm hired. I might even end up being a housekeeper or an F and B or Front office personnel. Not that these jobs aren't great or any lesser. But just not something that I even remotely want in my life. But however things turn out to be, I'll never feel that whatever is wrong with my life is so because I didn't have the nerve to try and take a few risks for something that I really really wanted. After all, what is life without a few drops of risks, approximately a teaspoon of drama and    dollops of incredibly amazing moments with the kind of people and dreams that you cherish. 

How I miss my old friend on wheels!

"The older people get, the more they start hating old things."

Years of struggle and withstanding left futile. Our LML Vespa has been taken away. Sold and banished. It was the first vehicle we bought after our family of 4 was born. At early mornings my father used to start for his office from our riverside home in it, park it at an acquaintance’s home near the bus stand and leave. Then when he’d be back by the evening he used to pick it up and come home on it. So for a little girl, it was the thing that brought her daddy home safely. Numerous rides we have had on that as a family with the four of us packed on it. A littler version of my sister standing between the tight clasp of his legs and hands and myself, a baby, securely in my mother’s hands. To shops, to and from school and to the movies; the LML Vespa was our little SUV then.

After we moved to our present home just a hundred yards away from the bus stand and then later bought our car, we limited its use to petty trips like his lone rides to the fish market or the saloon. We could hear its huge grunting sound from a distance of at least a kilo meter in advance. The way our pet (a she cat) used to wait patiently for him at the window then, relieved somebody had thought of her at last. A few, may be 5 or 6, years ago, we stopped using it. I don't know the reason. The  worn tires, the horn, the light, insurance-lapse, my mother's fears, the car- all went against the poor old fellow. The scooter was covered and kept away. I never saw my mother and father sharing the same type of bonding, with her hands over his strong shoulders reminding him of her presence, in the car as they used to do while riding the scooter.

Neither I nor the poor old thing had a peaceful time then on. My father was eager to sell it. Wasn't gonna bring much money but he just wanted to sell it off and maybe spare the space. The junkyard dealers were keen on taking it too. I really had a tough time praying, shouting and revolting to save our dear friend on wheels. It was nothing less than a heritage, something that evoked beautiful memories of our past, of my life, my parents’ and most importantly my grandfather. A few months ago a brand new scooter came to our home. The old man was completely sidelined. Abandoned in the cold and the rain, away from the shelter of the porch. Conversations about selling him had somehow stopped and I was relieved. But soon it was sold for a thousand Indian Rupees. The value of her services, the memories, our heritage. We had ditched our Vespa!

I was lying on the bed, immersed in thoughts that day. I had just been taught a big lesson. That old things, useless things had to be abandoned. But I am glad that I'm very bad at perceiving things taught to me against my preformed principles because we are all getting older and older and one day we all become useless to even ourselves.

                                                                                                           

                                                                                                       - Ardhraprakash

                                                                                                        (written in 2012)