Feathering the new nest

It seems like you've just learnt to let go when it's time to help your child settle down. The years have flown past and here is this huge hulk who has got a job in another city and now has to learn to fend for himself. The mother despairs over his sustenance and how he will manage to feed himself with no one to hand him his every meal.

So, the decision is taken to travel to his new residence and help him set up house. This is when you regret not having insisted on his learning some cooking. But where there's a will there's a way, you console yourself. Knowing fully well how seriously he takes the art of eating, you are convinced he will learn to cope.

So, before he sets out on this new adventure, you haul his reluctant self into the kitchen and play a game of identification of condiments. Even as you start naming these, you can feel his attention wandering as he asks what's for lunch. But you persevere and refuse to let him change the subject. After all it's a matter of his survival.

An unsatisfactory lesson later, you begin the futile exercise of writing down simple recipes, with step-by-step instructions such as 'Light the stove. Then place the pan on it'. Everything is spelt out, nothing is left to chance. Next comes the labelling of packets in bold letters that not even the myopic can say they can't read.

As the packing starts in right earnest, there is much grumbling about having to find space for these when he would rather fit in another pair of jeans or two and some more T-shirts. Plus there is his formidable collection of CDs and the must-haves such as the Playstation, music system and five pairs of shoes.

With mother in tow, the young lad arrives at his first home. Her presence is tolerated as even he realises that sometimes unnecessary baggage can have its uses. While he checks out the bedroom, trying to visualise where all his equipment will go, his mother is firmly ensconced in the kitchen. Pots and pans are brought out and arranged neatly as also the spice jars. Then there is a frenzied cooking session as his meals for the next few days are looked after.

Satisfied with the full freezer and cupboards, the mother departs. He won't have to cook for some days until he finds his feet. And after that, there are the recipes she has painstakingly written down which she trusts even he will be able to follow without any mishaps.

The very next day the phone rings in the flat. It's the mother checking to see if he has survived the hazards of living on his own. A casual inquiry about the reason for his not answering an earlier call reveals an astonishing truth. He had gone out for dinner with a group of friends and hadn't heard the phone ring. Not sure if she's heard right, she repeats her question, "You went out to eat?"

Mystified by her interest in his eating habits, he asks her why she needs to know every detail. But her morbid interest stems from a genuine curiosity. What has happened to the tonnes of food she had left in the freezer? A silent moment or two later she receives the incredible information that the lot has already been polished off and the freezer is as bare as old Mother Hubbard's.

Unable to believe what she is hearing, she starts naming each item she had cooked. The meals she had slaved over should have lasted for a week even after making allowances for his healthy appetite. Nettled by the barrage of questions, he tells her that maybe the next time she should cook some more. After all he's a working man now and needs proper sustenance. That's when a deceptively soft voice reminds him of the recipe book. And that's when the line is cut!