I happen to be the stark reflection of my mother, my appearance is like that of her, I talk like her, my postures have taken after her, I laugh like her (though not as generous with laughter as her), and some say that our voices are also similar. At least that is what everyone tells us, while both of us do not quite agree with this school of thought. But there is one attribute of hers that I hope to have inherited, her proficiency in cooking.
My mother is an excellent cook and in the two and a half years that I have been away from home I have come to appreciate this fact even more. In fact I blame her for all the temperamental fits I have thrown about food during my time as a paying guest, simply because she has set the bar so high. And thus my refined sense of taste doesn’t hesitate to shriek at the
sight taste of badly made food. God bless her patience, patience with which she stands for hours in the kitchen letting the Dal Makhni simmer on the stove so that it achieves the right consistency or stirring the Kheer because originally people never put Khoya/Milk Maid to thicken it or cutting Saag(Green Mustard) and Spinach with her hands because cutting it with the knife gives away a good portion. Her zeal to come back from a restaurant and reproduce an exotic dish that she had tasted and liked and her brilliance with which she figures out the ingredients is spellbinding.
Her culinary skill is the only thing I ask of her, that I could cook mouth-watering delights with the finesse she does. I don’t know how genetics works, but my only hope is that for this one it has worked on my favour because my mother is not always going to cook with as much agility as she does now and at some time she will have to pass on the torch. Wouldn’t it be a complete disappointment, if I am any less or leave the disappointment aside, the loss that my taste buds will have to suffer. Sadly, my brilliance as of now ends with books and very little of it has been registered in kitchen. And my pace in the kitchen is one thing to talk about, I take half an hour to make two minutes Maggi noodles or when I started making tea I would sit down to watch the colour turn from light brown to this mildly crimson one.
I have taken birth with a slight inclination towards food, okay not eating food but exploring it. I am always in the kitchen when my mother is experimenting or innovating or trying a new recipe, as a child I used to look forward to watch Khana Khazana on Sunday mornings with my mother and if it counts we share mutual affection for Vikas Khanna. I observe her while she cooks, sometimes the smallest of things amaze me, how she takes a handful of coriander, washes it and finely chops it and I think how do you not cut your finger while doing so or the wonder when you realize that the vibrant green in the chutney is not primarily because of the green herb you have put but because of peanuts. My early attempts at food have shown positive results, I am a pro at coffee-making and coffee addiction as well, hot coffee, cold coffee, Cafe Coffee Day’s Café Frappé or Kapa Nirvana, you name it and I can deliver it . Another dish that I have mastered is the Poha, my family swears by the steamed delight.
While it remains a mystery if this proficiency will last when it comes to full-fledged cooking, I am more than content with whatever I have learnt from my mother. I am going to conclude with a quote that a friend told me in the day and gave me an inspiration for a post.
“All that I know and hope to be I owe it to my mother.”
Here is a picture of the two of us, any opinions on the resemblance?