Cooking times

Cooking times. Rama has decided to take a break, fly to Bengaluru to be with the Sreevatsam generation for a week. And has put me in the kitchen, never in charge of the kitchen, to make moong dal, snake gourd bhaji and kadalai or chana dal mix, on net practice basis; to go with rice and chappatis; the menu decided by Lady, not me; like the Eden Gardens pitch decided by Souravda not the cricket game; around 12, she sank into her sofa, switched on the TV, surfed Malayalam channels, before settling on Naran by Mohan Lal or Lalettan, as she addresses the gentleman; for the 13 th sighting of Naran; me in the kitchen, Rama giving orders on ad breaks (and for a Lalettan film, every Kerala gold corporate, rushes with ads); started with moong dal; chopped onions, tomatoes, dropped them in a vessel with a dash of oil (dont waste oil, came Rama's voice over); the cooker whistled like a football refree; one switched off; waited; the dal lay half-cooked as Mohanlal was into the first round of a dishun, dishun, dishun.. with Rama tense; a Joyalukka ad flashed, Rama stood up, made a kitchen entry; she tasted the dal, made a face (as bad as your unread blogs, she said), advised salt additions and further cooking; me did as told; on the morning walk, me had bought 250 gm snake gourd at Rs.15 from Gandhari, under instructions from Rama; sipping coffee, chopped the snake gourd into half-moon pieces, neatly dumped it in the frige; me am no connosieur of snakes and gourd, but these days am getting used to everything from Zampa leg spin to Ashwin distortions to snake gourds and tapioca curry; the dal nearly over with the cooker off whistle, focussed on snake gourd; an Indulekha ad break; Mohanlal in plaster and stick; Rama in a bad mood; quick fire measure of work done and to be done; me placed a tava on gas with oil and moved ahead forgetting the kaduku; Rama winced; the job was repeated and in a way the snake gourd lost its greenness to a brownish, salty idea; 'nothing can be done about the extra salt,' said the Lady and was back with Naran with Mohanlal swimming a swollen river exclaiming: 'Ende Amma'; maybe, the gentleman is a poet; the end was coming, pumping arms, Mohanlal beaming having quashed all including the film director (wonder whether Mohanlal films need a director as he styles himself The Complete Actor). Naran ended; Rama made her presence, went over the cooked mess; did not like it a bit; me, after a late noon bath to still the strains of cooking, dressed up to be with Rama; the Lady decided to have lunch at air conditioned Aura Hotel: fried rice, aloo paratha, bhendi sabhji with roasted papads. Last came faludas and diabetic Lady glowed. Bill Rs.800 minus tips. She called Madhavi offering me handiwork free but she, again, was at a marriage, a polite lie. 'Hope I have cash to go to Bengaluru?', she said. We stepped out of Aura.