Monsoon is a time for renewal…. Its a special time. There’s rebirth and renewal of what was once drying under the heavy sun and the smell of wet earth. Its always helped me romanticise the situation around me. Though being in the city takes away from the charm of the small town… With Italy traffickers for kilometers and Delhi particularly runs at a rather languid pace…which ends its night in frustration.
However being in theses traffic lockjams for long leaves me to wander in thought back home. Where with the coming of rain would come the time for lounging and sipping on tea and eating Pakories. The very pastime that I crave in thwarting hustle and bustle of the city.
Nonetheless after a long bath in the rain ofcourse. We used to spend evenings with my grandma. One time comes back as a flash back. After running from puddle to puddle and pillaging every one of them with our shoes we were dried and then the pakories were doing the rounds. We’re basically a foodie family. All thanks to my grandma for being the super cook she is she made food our favourite pastime. We can talk about a lot of food!
Anyway so it always intrigued me how my grandma got into this whole cooking mania. Ance being the smaller of the two ahead was barred from the kitchen. So ahead recounted for ua the very first time she at her hands on cooking.
11 Barrow Road in Lucknow was abreast with energy as children used to be running around playing. But lately the construction that had eaten up half their play area became a fascinating maze for them to jump in and out of. Since the monsoon had set in the walls were left standing and the roofs had not yet begun. So on a clear day the children planned to camp out for the afternoon and boil potatoes and make like the labour which used to work there.
So all of them brought two potatoes each from the kitchens and gathered some wood. After much patient trial and error they got the fire going. On it the potatoes were put to boil in some woe be gone utensil.
The water shimmered and little bubbles formed till it finally came to a boil. So the excitement was slowly itching cresendo. They would soon have potatoes all boiled by themselves. as one says simple pleasures are life true treasures. The simple joy of eating a potato was making the children restless.
Time passed by…but how would one know if the potatoes were done or not? So little Barb. ..aka grandma brought to the able a suggestion. Something she had seen the khansama do q million times…for her it was a triviality. she just ordered a for a twig…and said by poking thwarting potatoes they will know if they ready to eat!
So all of them hurriedly brought a stick each…and poked at the potatoes. After a little while the exercise was repeated with utmost discretion. But alas to no avail. They would have to wait longer before their tummy would be filled.
So once again not giving in they swooped down on the potatoes like vultures after a rather patient wait…after many such attempts…they finally realised to their misfortune that not really was left of the poor potatoes. Except that the utensils looked like a scene front a war zone…very holey and without any promise of recovery at all. Their egos and hopes wee quashed into a pile of nothing…so dejected they went home and lived to tell the tale of the very holey potatoes that they once thought of eating!
Well to tell you to this day my grandma is very particular of boiling potatoes and not once have I ever see her poke at it…maybe lesson well learnt in the early life stayed with her.
So thus ended another story…and well pass the potato Pakories I said!
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