Cheap Thrills

Irrespective of the gruelling and gut-wrenching angst I feel about the condition of the wage-earners, now, more than ever, I cannot but be grateful about my privileges which include food, water, shelter, company, sanitation and broadband. Yet, after doing all one can in one's capacity, one cannot be unhappy and not count the blessings in the form of cheap thrills, can they?

Having outgrown carefully coated nail-polish shades and the excitement of home-cooked pizza from the scratch, I have realised such moments of happiness are rather short-lived. They turn into habits in our control. But cheap thrills continue. Like landing upon movies as are Dum Maaro Dum and Fatso. And suddenly discovering that one had reserved a blob of butter in the deep corners of the freezer. Or be prepared and walk up to the sink to see there are no dishes awaiting a wash! Mine comes in the form of Diljit's commentary over his cooking and Karan's (my cinematic father) children.

While I am an attested fan of Taimur Ali Khan Pataudi (and his father), the Johar twins are way too much fun! Around lunch thrice or sometimes everyday in a week, they blabber their way in their father's closet, or loo, and make a cute case-study for how children can take their parents' case rather unwittingly, and lovingly :)

As for Diljit, always a fan of his outlandish yet symphonic styling and his profuse humility, every night, whether or not I have my dinner, I religiously follow his amazingly simple cooking, made delicious with his expert commentary which regularly feature the love life of Jeera and Asafoetida, the social distancing of Haldi, Namak, Laal Maerch, and the god-like presence of tomato-coriander-chilli blended into a paste. It all simmers up to the grand lesson of (hold your breath), "MAH SABZEE-MAH RULEZ".

I shouldn't be saying this, but gosh I will miss these once the lockdown is over (quickly covering my coy face from your holy attack).

Flavour of the Lockdown

Will it be too harsh if I titillate your palette in such rationed times? Well, forgive me, without a drop of amber to relish, without a strict diet to follow, all I can think of is the joy of planning what to cook, prepping for it and eventually eating. It is indeed deeply meditative.

Not one to have tried Dalgona or sourdough or even any three-ingredient wonder cake, I discovered talents erstwhile unknown to me. So long satisfied only with my knife skills and patience, I will share with you my journey with wheat flour.

While Assam and Bengal should have cemented my commitment towards rice, it was actually an uncharacteristic affinity towards the smell of freshly made roti (that always came from elsewhere, and not my home) which drew me towards it. Over time, of the many things I developed I also grew lactose intolerant -- later routed to the relationship between the gut and the mood. Yet, the smell was one which stirred in me an undisputed hunger. I had also tried to learn the skill from my mother, I won't lie, but realising the number of steps involved and the amount of perfection required to master a perfect circle, I gave up. Yes, without trying. I mean, you got rotis everywhere, anyway!

When we had a house-help to cook for us in Delhi, I had the choicest of soft, small and deliciously made rotis. The size was often called out by my esteemed colleagues too, yet, I cared a fig. And then, lockdown happened. Lovely readers, I wouldn't be exaggerating if I declared that I found the zen-like equivalent of playing Candy Crush in kneading a dough. Caressing it with the right amount of water, or oil, to build a baby dough is as satisfying as the endless Instagram videos on clay/play dough. What I intend to say is, suddenly, the long process seems to have been absolved by the sheer enchantment of rolling out shapes (began from states of India, to triangles, went to somewhat a circle, and has now reached a circle). To those who have often told me what is the difference between a watch worth 1k and one which is upwards of 20k, because they both show time, well, so does your roti! Don't complain of its shape, it will taste the same. But who am I to kid? I swear there is a difference in taste.

Dear ones, over these last weeks, I have become a fan of the modest wheat flour mixed with the versatile semolina, seasoned and fried well. Without a doubt, it dishes out the fluffiest, crispiest smiles.

:)  

Quarantined

I thought and debated, on whether or not to write on this, and finally decided to do it. Ever since March 1st, I have been home, with the exception of 10th March (which was Holi). So, until yesterday it was roughly already 60+ days of "staying home", "staying safe"; basically doing everything that has been deemed correct. In fact, we have been obeying everything so much so that all shopping and getting things indoor have also been done to the t (we sanitize everything at the main door itself). I have been downstairs once every week to take the car for a spin within the block, which has been exceptionally cautious about maintaining social distance, and decorum in all the three parks. The day before, I had an anxiety attack about life in general, and thankfully, I surfaced. Things were going on well yesterday morning, when, undeclared, an event unfolded.

Tending to my plants in the veranda, I loitered about to overhear the unnatural number of people assembled downstairs. With my superior curiosity and affable social skills, I, of course asked around, very casually, "what happened there?" The lady in the opposite balcony replied, "Not there, over you." Dear readers, someone tested Covid positive in our next building. By the time I could respond, the shock of it being right there hit me hard. Over the next twenty minutes, as if in fast forward motion, I accumulated too much uncomfortable information, including "quarantined", "barricaded", "sealed" etc. etc. The patient was already at a hospital, and her family members tested negative.

Dear readers, if you thought this was going to be a rant about "my quarantine life", you are mistaken. This is an out and loud appreciation post on the community kindness I witnessed thereafter. Within a span of maximum two hours, the said building and two on either of its side (Delhi buildings share walls), resembled a crime scene from one of the many thriller movies I have seen. The bright yellow Delhi Police barricades screamed out in the achingly silent zone. The women leaders of the RWA efficiently created a WhatsApp group with all members of the three buildings. The group also has our SHO and the local inspector. Every instruction in being conveyed and acted upon in the group with the response time of under 1 minute.

To be frank, I was sure to touch 100+ days of self-quarantine. Yet, this morning when I woke up to see the PPE angels arriving on site to sanitize the buildings, our cars, our parks, I gulped the gravity of it all. Even our garbage has been mandated to be disposed off in a particular way. Not one to reveal my political inclinations, I reiterate the democratic support that these unknown neighbours have been lending at such an abstract time. True, our world is undergoing healing, and we will emerge more empathetic and compassionate than ever before.

Till then, watch the Malayalam movie "Virus", and be assured, we are safe and being well taken care of!