Doodling Noodles
This one is dedicated to all the Mothers and Housewives who spend their entire life in feeding their families and rarely receive their due reward for a job well done. Seriously, cooking is one of the most essential and the least valued art that we can think of.
The incident dates back to my bachelor days when I could cook only Maggi and that too in crisis situations. My confidence in cooking (or the lack of it) reflected in my cooking repertoire, which was also not strong enough.
On a rainy weekend in Gurgaon, I went to Sadar Bazaar along with my scientist neighbour-cum-friend, Dr. Salman Hashmi (no, the name is NOT changed for confidential reasons; it’s his real name only). Just as we were about to return, it started raining cats and dogs, and drowned the market in a matter of minutes. There was no point in waiting for the downpour to stop, so we decided to brave the rain and took a rickshaw.
Luckily, that day I had purchased a covered bucket, which we made good use of by putting in all our valuables like mobile, purse, watch etc. As our rickshaw snailed through the waterlogged streets, we could hardly keep our eyes open — the rain was that heavy. Specky people like me would agree that rain poses an additional problem for us…wish we had wipers on our specs, don’t we?
Although completely drenched, we reached home safe and sound before dusk. However, I had an additional problem to reckon — there was nothing to eat for dinner and there was no way I could go to my nearby eatery either. The water on the streets was waist-deep, I thought.
So, I pressed F1 on my scientist friend’s door and searched for a Maggi. Probably, I wasn’t ‘feeling lucky’ enough and so I got some Hakka noodles instead, which I took as a substitute of Maggi.
I thought my survival problem was solved and so I passed the next couple of hours with my companion i.e. my computer.
At around 9 o’clock, I opened the Hakka noodles pack and discovered that it was not meant for novice chefs like me. It was actually one type of chowmin and there was no trace of any in-built masala pack.
I knew noodles had to be boiled first and then fried as well along with some vegetables or peanuts, at least. Problem was that I was not having any ingredient other than oil and salt. I looked down my balcony praying, “water, water please retreat, this lonely bachelor needs to eat”, but past experiences told me that the water-logging would not log-off until the next two days.
I returned to my room, ignited the stove, and boiled the noodles. Just as I was about to draw out the remaining water from the boiled noodles, I got distracted for a second and the vessel toppled. Half of the noodles fell on the floor and the remaining half fell on the mat on which I used to rub my feet before going to bed.
When tragedy strikes, be prepared to receive the next blow. Perhaps, this is what my tarot cards read on that day. But I was not the one to give up. I took the noodles from the floor as well as from the “clean” part of the mat, and washed it with cold water to purify it. I wondered what Ma would have done in such a situation.
I finished the remaining procedure of cooking noodles and ate it as well. It did taste awful, but at least I could eat it without vomiting.
Often, adversities teach us better ways to live. For me, that ill-fated noodles incident gave a new found zeal. Noodles or chowmin (cooked by my Ma only) was one of my favourite dishes. I thought if I could prepare edible noodles without the necessary ingredients then definitely I could cook it lot better when I am well prepared.
The zeal paid off, and in the next couple of months, I learnt to cook a number of items. Of course, with a lot of technical support from my Mother.
Chowmin still remains a mystery for me, and I believe no one can cook it like Ma does in her own unique way.
