malady of a restless mind

Something dawned on me a while back. That, I cook like a maniac when I am upset. Doesn’t mean I cook bad. Means, I cook way too much. I go a little over the top. Also realised that, when I do that, I feel a lot calmer. Its like burying yourself in something that doesn’t require you to think. Cooking to me in like that. I just go about it almost about blindly. I add masalas, as and when it comes to it. I never prepare. For me cooking never has a pre-preparation time. The first thing I do when I start cooking is turn on the stove and put a pan on it, reduce the gas knob to low flame and then open the refrigerator. If I see eggs first, then eggs it is for dinner. And whether those eggs will be scrambled, curried or made into Raj’s favorite Aziz bi dish, depends entirely on my hands, where they lead me to. Will my hands go for onions and tomatoes or will they just pour oil and break the eggs in.

So that’s how it goes….when I am upset.

 

And the last few days the kitchen has been a victim to my painfully long and arduous cooking. I made dishes, one after the other, like I had to feed a house full of guests. And not even  one dish complimented with the other. Pizza, chicken pulao, plain rice, doi maach, dal, bhaja. I reached for the brinjal to make a bharta out of it, and suddenly, I stopped. Exhausted. It was like being possessed by a troubled chef’s spirit. And then I wanted to sit with my hands over my head and, cry- who the hell did I think was going to do the dishes??

 

Ok, I am upset. I don’t like it when he leaves. Not the least, especially when I am no where in Hyderabad’s vicinity. 

 

My mind. My mind. Yeah, that’s the snag. I can’t seem to get a grip over it.