Who says magic exists only in Harry Potter books, dreams and imagination? It exists inside our homes, right under our noses. What else can explain the transformation of raw rice into fluffy strands of bhaat, lanky okra into delicious bhujiya and beaten eggs into spicy egg bhurji?
I grant you science has a role to play, but it is only magic that has made me the solemniser of these transformations – yes, me, standing with a stirrer in one hand, the fingers of the other crossed in nervous anticipation. Ten days into my new life in Pune, I have managed to whip up a few meals without raising up a storm, or a fire for that matter.
The fruit and vegetable vendors in Pune, I have found, are highly sensitive about their products. “Will those grapes be fresh?” R ventured to ask one the other evening. The weighing scales also looked biased – or call it our North Indian apprehension.
“Of course they are fresh! I only sell the best.” The vendor replied defensively. “If I had been in government service, I would be earning a hefty pension by now – so long have I been in this business.”
We were regaled with tales of his experiences as a street vendor all the while we hunted for onions, tomatoes and potatoes.
While moving into a new home has its downsides, it is terrific to live in a decluttered house. You know exactly where everything is. This lack of clutter is conducive to the kind of good habits the family advocates: waking up on time, eating a heavy breakfast, drinking milk at night.
Getting the milk the first time proved to be entertaining. “Would you want cow’s or buffalo’s milk? Full cream or half cream?” Where were my close-to-heart red-packet and blue-packet varieties? “Errm, I find cow’s milk suits our systems the best, thank you.” Some customers looked at me in awe – ah, the experienced homemaker.
It is only when we return from one of our evening walks, and find unwashed dishes in the kitchen, that we wish magic pulled up its socks tighter and lent us a hand.