IF FOOD BE THE MUSIC OF LIFE, PLAY ON! #BLOGCHATTER #WRITEAPAGEADAY
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Is there anyone who can truly say that food is not
important in their lives? Yes, the degree of importance may vary. Some eat to
live, others live to eat. This post is for all the foodies out there who love the
very idea of food. Of course, there are those who believe that the way to a man’s
heart is through his stomach. The reverse is true as well. A man who cooks for his
lady love is already ensconced safely in her heart!
When I got married at the age of 22 to a dashing Army
officer, the kitchen was a remote area for me, in Army parlance. I am not
making excuses here, but anyone who has been part of the sumptuous meals that
were served at home when I was a child, will know the reason why. My Dad was in
the Army and my mother cooked for exactly a year and a half after she married
him. Then came an angel in the guise of Parvathy Amma, a middle-aged lady who
was a wizard in the kitchen. Anything she prepared tasted divine.
To cut a long story short, not only was Parvathy Amma the
most amazing chef I have ever seen, but she was also extremely protective of
her little girls… my two sisters and me. She would not allow us to step into
her kitchen, and as a result, when I got married, I could not even make a cup
of tea.
My long-suffering better half was like the rock of Gibraltar.
He ate everything I burnt, ruined, overcooked with no complaint, slowly
developing a cast-iron stomach. Those first few years were tumultuous… and
then, the tide began turning. I found my way around the kitchen, and plodded
through numerous cookery books, finally managing to find my culinary niche
through trial and error.
The Army is a beautiful place. From the time I was a brand-new
bride, I was taken care of, along with all the other brides who had come into
the Unit at almost the same time. We were all fiercely protected by our senior
ladies, who fed us and nurtured us, till we were ready to soar.
I fondly recall wonderful breakfasts when we would all be
invited to a lovely couple’s house, where we would gorge on the most delicious
parathas of all kinds… alu, gobhi, mooli… (potato, cauliflower, radish) you
name it, it was there. All this accompanied by oodles of affection and butter
and a spicy Rajasthani red garlic chutney that took our breath away.
There were numerous other occasions when I learnt new
dishes from friends. In those days, we could all walk into one another’s houses
in the evening and stay on for dinner. We have often been ambushed
ourselves by hordes of young officers, almost twenty six in number, especially
when my husband was an instructor of the Young Officers’ Course. They would
call it a raid, walking in sometimes with bread and eggs, and finish off
everything in the refrigerator, leaving it bare like Old Mother Hubbard’s
cupboard. Those were, indeed, the good old days, which we remember with such
fondness. Even today when we meet them anywhere, where many of them are in
senior positions, there are so many tales to be told and anecdotes to be
laughed over.
We were once sitting with friends when the lady of the
house suggested that we make spring rolls together. We proceeded to the kitchen
and she showed me how to make the simplest, yet most delicious, spring rolls.
Likewise, when we were posted in Srinagar, a good friend made Kashmiri baingan
(brinjal) which I promptly wrote down, step by step. It was yet another friend who
taught me the essence of frying masalas till the oil separated, a step that
made such an amazing difference to all the curries I made after that.
The first time I had bhindi alu (potato-ladies-finger) was
when I had made a quick stop at another friend’s house, and she was just
spluttering jeera (cumin). In a jiffy, she had fried everything and the sabji (vegetable)
was so delicious that it turned into a staple at my dining table.
When my husband was the Commanding Officer at Baroda, we
had umpteen opportunities to host parties – all the lessons I had learnt came
into use. My husband had also honed his barbeque skills right from the year we
got married where we used an upside-down dustbin with an ammunition box over it,
and slowly graduated to a cast iron pot.
In Deolali we had
a brick oven barbeque on the terrace, which we used avidly. One day, however,
we had an older couple, parents of our friends, over for lunch, and when they
left, the gentleman clapped my husband on the back saying, “Well done, beta. You have a
havan kund (for poojas) at home.” We did not have the heart to correct him.
By the time we reached Baroda, we had a professional
looking barbeque set which could feed an army, which is exactly what we did! We had our young visitors as well. Our
daughter’s friends would come over often to eat sandwiches, pasta, and
especially Kerala parathas and egg roast.
Today, as we look back at those days, the memories are mixed.
We have had our grey moments and our purple patches. We have lived through the tumult in
Delhi after Mrs. Gandhi’s assassination, terrorism in Punjab, the earthquake
and the riots in Gujarat, the Kargil war in Srinagar. My husband was a UN
peacekeeper in Mozambique during the tumultuous elections there and Rwanda during
the genocide and the blood lust that ensued. Many are the nights when my
daughter, Priyanka, and I, have stayed awake in fear, but there are many more perilous
occasions that we did not even know about.
On the other side, we have delightful memories of
travelling to new places, meeting new friends and setting up home in various
states. Those friendships are vibrant and alive, and we keep in touch with our
Army family on WhatsApp, meeting at weddings and significant occasions. Through
all those memories are interspersed the aroma and the emotions of the food, always a factor that kept us all together, crafting snapshots in our minds
which would never fade away.
Postscript: Life in the Indian Army will always be
special for me. In 2002, my first book titled ‘Arms and the Woman’ was brought
out by Rupa Publishers. This was a book that took a light-hearted look at my
life as an Army wife, or lady wife, as the term goes. This book is now out of
print, but I am seriously thinking of bringing it out as an e-book.
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