09/06/2025
Yesterday, when everyone in the house was packing shoppers of meat for distribution, meanwhile my Ama asked me to cook white rice for my bua who was not well. I put the rice pot on the stove and went inside the room because I couldn't stand in the kitchen, and everyone was communicating in loud voices that surely would have given me a headache. I literally forgot about the rice and stepped into the kitchen… boom! The bottom of the rice got burnt, and my sister looked at me with furious eyes, and Ama taunted me a little bit " jab tumhe pata tha k new chawal 5 min m ban jaate to tumhe andar nahi jana chahiye tha!"I admitted my mistake, and thankfully,no one exaggerated the matter.
It may seem like an ordinary daily event to everyone, including me, but there are hundreds of women in our society who are verbally, physically, or emotionally abused over the tiniest things—like putting too little or too much salt in dishes, adding more spices, and the list goes on...
Women spend hours in the kitchen to make food, but when it turns out a little tasteless, they have to listen to taunts from in-laws, and sometimes from their sons and brothers too.
Being a Desi Amma, my Amialso panics or starts blaming herself if something goes wrong from her side, and my calmest Abbu Jaan—the greenest forest—calms her by saying, "You can't reverse the situation no matter how much you cry or blame yourself," but still, Amma is Amma!!
I clearly remember the first time I cooked a dish. It was a green gravy-type chicken recipe which I read in a magazine when I was in class 7 (vo ek alag kahani h k Ammi ko kaise manaya k mujhe pakane do). It turned out good and everyone liked it, including my Abbu Jaan, but he doesn't eat chicken, so I tried again to make it for him in beef—but it turned out to be a disaster. I made it too spicy with a combination of all masalas without proper measurements (bht pagal aurat thi main). But salute to my Abba and Chachus who didn’t say a single word against it.
I can recall many incidents like that. Cooking roti in the initial days in class 9—which used to turn hard like a rock after 5 minutes—but my Abbu used to eat that roti. Baking a cake for the first time (class 11th or 12th) on high flame, so it burnt from the sides and remained unbaked from the inside. Thank God Ami was not at home; otherwise, that would have been my last day! And then Abu suggested me to give that cake to crows. And last but not the least, I once spilled a whole big bowl of yogurt and started crying, but Abbu came to the rescue me and repeated the same words he always says to Ami"khair hai... cheez hai jaani thi to chale gaye... rone se wapas thori aegi".
It was the softness of my father that I can admit my biggest mistakes in front of him—and now with my Ami too—and I tease her by saying, “Chill Ami, chill.”
Believe me, cooking becomes super easy when you are cooking with love—but it needs a little patience and tolerance—when you know that no one is going to point out flaws in it.
I loved cooking since my high school days, and no one in this house ever pressurized me for it. That only became possible because my people supported me. Otherwise, I would have never made anything again for someone ungrateful. (My brother knows that well because he once made such a mistake, so now he eats quietly.) I solely did it for myself. Also the reason , I do not have to rely on someone else—and it helped me a lot in my hostel life. (Hostel k blunders pr phr kbhi sahi 😂)
