Cooking

I have experienced many disillusionments about my cooking skills. My mother is an amazing cook. And I used to think that I have started on the positive side, as cooking skills must be something that one inherits. I used to be a bold cook initially who experimented and tried new recipes. Those few times when I started cooking maggie and turned it into burnt coal didn't quiet give me a hint about things to come. I continued my endeavours and got it wrong most of the times. But even then I was very optimistic that the next time I'll do better. It was this one dhokla-cooking incident, which finally managed to shatter my beliefs. It kind of penned down my cooking abilities. After this I could no longer fool myself or the world that I was gifted with innate cooking skills. On the contrary, I kind of resolved to the fact that I was a failure as far as cooking was concerned.

It was one quiet Sunday evening and four or five of us decided that we wanted to eat something nice. I had heard an easy recipe of dhokla from my mother a few days back. Not too many people were ready to trust me with it, but my confidence level was rather high. It almost convinced everyone and they decided to give me a chance. I have already given away the crucial part of the story that the dholka didn't quiet turn out great. But what I haven't yet said is, it looked like a pan cake, it tasted like a dry tasteless bhajji, it felt like a rubber sheet. It was a dish that the early man must have tried to delete from the world. It had the ability to kill, just by its looks. It was probably the worst looking dish I had even seen. The quiet evening was becoming something else.

The evening took a tragic turn when everyone was forced to eat, by hook or by (the) cook, (some ate out of sheer love for yours truly and some because they were really hungry) whatever damn I cooked. I think the recipe also affected many of us in more than one ways. It must have been the extra chilly or the extra salt. I don't know which one. But it shot my temper no bounds when one of my friend tried to constructively criticise me. An effective and quick back hand stroke landed on his right cheek. More gore and blood shed followed. That evening is like a dark memory I wish to forget as soon as possible.

You might ask whether I have tried to cook after that. (Have I managed to forget that dreadful evening?....) Yes, indeed I have! It took lot of courage to start all over again. But even after this, I have cooked, I have eaten and I have survived. And whats more, I plan to not give up!