“Are you guys coming? Its 8:45pm, we’ll have to do the dishes if you don’t hurry up…”
“It’s so hot in here…Our mess should get an award for having a state-of-the-art central heating system. Oh crap! Rajma! Why do they keep feeding us with this poisonous sh**?”
With that sort of a reaction, I should have just stormed out of the mess and probably eaten in a dhaba [1]. But…
“I can’t! I just ate out yesterday thanks to Chhole-Bhature. You know how fond I am of those elastic Bhaturas. Now I’m broke. You guys go ahead.”
So I had to go for the compromise. I was not among those who would hoist the white flag so soon. I decided to eat, but just for the sake of it. “Bhaiya jaldi plate lana!” I demanded. I poured one serving spoon of Rajma, a couple of pieces of potato from the dish which constituted of an unidentified and undeterminable mixture.
I must though confess that at least the Rotis were not rubbery. Nonetheless, owing to its ‘mess-y’origin, it was pretty hard to digest.
So I scurried through my so-called dinner and got up in probably what should be scripted as a record time, thus earning the cynosure of all the eyeballs, belonging to those satiating their tongues and tummies। But they say that the mind is faster than light and hence, also than my eating speed. It had managed to scrutinize a few memories during my fraction-course meal.
***
“I don’t want to eat any of that stuff, Ma!. I’m tired of this mundane routine meal of yellow dal and rice.”
“Apu! Stop being such a spoilt brat! You have anyway made it a point to not touch tomatoes, karela, brinjal, so on and so forth. Now at least don’t add basic ‘rice and dal’ to that list. How will you endure this preparation phase? You won’t have anyone coercing you like this in your mess.”
“I shall look forward to that eagerly.”
***
A year later, I was already packing up to leave. And this is where I landed up. My college, MNNIT Allahabad, had a reputation of being in the top from the bottom, when it came to hospitality. I was going to regret not listening to mom earlier.
I realized that on the very first day when I had to fight the fiercest of battles for my breakfast. The freshmen had instigated a virtual coup in the mess. Never in my life had I imagined that I’d have to duck, parry and literally assault, for two slices of dry bread with fried potato (the protagonist) filling, covering just about a quarter of the bread surface.
I learnt that the standards were set to go down even further as the days would unfold. And…the seniors are always right. The rice got drier with time, the dal dilute, the vegetables became increasingly hard to distinguish and the potato, resolute as ever. Wouldn’t be astonished if a few cases of acute anorexia be reported in the near future!
On Wednesdays and Saturdays, our mess had something special in offer. No sir! No Chicken, can’t afford that, as
What’s so “Special” about those two particular meals? Well, for one, we get paneer; as though that’s something we would die for and that too with double the oil supply. Post meal ‘Gelusil’ doses are a characteristic feature on those days. To add to it, the meager quantity of Paneer cubes is interspersed in the unctuous gravy and requires vigorous rummaging to retrieve. The very sight of mortal beings doing the same publicly was seriously hilarious to me.
***
Hang on! There is a twist in the tale. It may have been involuntary and unintentional, but I, myself had actually started sieving out those Paneer cubes from the deeps of the gravy. And surprisingly I had also become active in pouncing on the Gulaab Jamun, a sweet dish I have despised since childhood.
Basically, I was starting to become a part of it. The mess may have been pathetic. Some of the dishes may have been absurdly inexplicable, eg. The yellow Kadhi- consumed by none and yet it prevails. But I could apply my methods to adapt. And one has to recognize the work put in by the rustic but friendly mess workers, whose day begins when the previous one ends for many of us and who leave no stones unturned to fulfill our urbane demands.
So it was now well established that my answer to the below standard mess food was simple- “no consumption”. But I had to get some nourishment; I had to live after all.
This is where my mess had changed me. I was the thirsty traveler, stuck in the desert, and was realizing the essence of water. I had learnt how to enjoy good food, whenever and wherever provided with it. The last three years transformed me into a Gourmet; my mother, my Grandma and of course my Nanny, being the connoisseurs. Of course an infinite list of restaurants [1] should also be added to that list as I leave no stones unturned in gobbling up as much as possible, as though this were my last meal.
At home, the enhanced foodie in me was greeted with an element of surprise, but was welcomed with spread arms. My feelings for that very meal comprising of arhar dal–rice garnished with ghee, had turned on its head. That wasn’t all. There were funnier things on the card. My demand-list now also encompassed milk, cheese and recipes incorporating coriander leaves and tomato!
All the readers who are unaware of my childhood obstinacy and tantrums with regard to food just assume this statement to be analogous to the sun rising in the west.
Believe it or not, this newly pronounced glutton may well demand some fried fish, the next time he’s headed home-wards.
[1]- Refer to “Two Worlds, One Country”…September 2008.
