‘Mum, you make the best snacks,’ shouted Sid. He was busy finishing the fried okra laced with cumin powder that I had made specially for him earlier that day. I have to confess, I was thrilled to receive such a compliment from Sid because he is, let us say, difficult to satisfy. I hugged him. “I am so glad you like them,” I gushed. Sid only smiled. To be fair to him, he always gives compliments when he likes what he eats. The irony is that I simply hate cooking.
I don’t like to spend hours on end in the kitchen. It was quite a shocker in our conservative Indian household. ‘Not wanting to master the art of cooking’ was an idea that was unheard of. Somehow, over the years, femininity and cooking have developed a relationship that is hard to break. While my entire family insisted that I, as a girl, should learn to cook, I learnt to make a cup of tea.
“You have to learn to cook some food,” my grandma insisted, and I learnt how to make different types of sandwiches. Finally every one gave up on me till the day the ‘M’ word was heard in the household.
“Marriage? What has cooking got to do with marriage?” I asked. I was naïve and everyone in the family just rolled their eyes. Turns out that every newly married Indian bride has to know everything there is to in the world of cooking. The more I resisted, the more the family lectured on the ‘the importance of cooking’.
If this wasn’t enough, my sister, who is four years younger, was already a little master chef. She could churn out the best of savouries that almost looked like the ones in the magazines. Most importantly, they tasted equally good. “If she can, why can’t you?” people asked. So, I was left with no choice but to relent.
It had to be a crash course. I remember that day clearly. It was a warm morning. Mum had just finished cooking for the day. She, as you must have guessed by now, is simply the queen of cooking. She knows everything there is to know about Indian food. So, I was obviously a little nervous. But, to my relief, she was very nice. She started by showing me all the grains and pulses in the kitchen rack. She pulled out one jar after the other. That day was a revelation. Never had I known till then cooking was such an elaborate ritual, one that mum indulged in day after day.
For my part, I noted down everything in a book. She taught me the basics — how to check if the vegetable is cooked, what goes into making the curry spicy or tangy. Next came a list of recipes that I noted down, with a side note on how I could recognise a particular spice or pulse. It was fun but also felt like a lot of responsibility.
Years later, recently, I opened the book that I have preserved in a drawer below my kitchen cabinet. Every time I open the book, I always feel the pages and smile. The pages now have a pale yellow shade but I like the fact that it helped me sail through the initial years of marriage despite several accidents.
As for Sid, he doesn’t know that I hate cooking. But, I have to admit here that although I hate to churn out dishes, day after day, I enjoy watching Sid smile and gush over my non-existent skill — that I think, is worth everything in the world.
Sudha Subramanian is an independent journalist based in Dubai.
