The Cook Book

 

The early morning train engorged a milling multitude of people on to the city platforms. In minutes they disappeared in to the hungry maws of households that were waiting to be served. If they were late then the cogs in the daily urban machinery stalled and played havoc with schedules not only in homes but in almost all spheres from children’s daycare to top bureaucratic levels.

The station clock showed six as Parul scrambled to board a bus to her destination. Barely waiting for the door to be opened Parul whizzed in as fresh as the morning breeze.  By the time her employer was midway through her brusque directives Parul had the kettle on, the tea tray arranged, the breakfast going and started prepping for the lunch boxes.

“Pack two vegetarian lunch boxes. Try and use up the leftovers in the fridge.”

Parul was used to these quick fire instructions from her employer Rita who having finished her tea and breakfast would leave in an hour’s time for work; secure that her mother in law Manju would take over for the rest of the day.

Manju and Parul reached out for their morning cups of tea before they took stock of the day’s chores.  Parul addressed her immediate needs, “Take a look at the fridge. I’m in a hurry as the Boses are having guests for lunch and some suggestions for their lunch menu would be welcome.”

“When aren’t you in a hurry? I often wonder how you manage to work in three houses and still board the return train.

 Tell me what is there in the fridge and get me my book. And have you cooked for these guests earlier?”

“Yes. They are very critical. So just tell me some easy to cook dishes.”

Manju consulted the proffered diary, gave some tips and watched Parul rush out with her usual speed. The battered notebook bulged with loose magazine clippings, old letters, bills and warranty cards for long replaced appliances and she wondered if all the culinary information bound between the covers would ever be used by anyone else.

There were guest lists for special dinners along with the menus so that there was variety and repetitions could be avoided. Expenses were noted for meat, fish and poultry for festive meals. There were pages devoted to children’s birthdays and picnics and ladies tea parties. Manju had discovered that sandwiches could have delicious and unusual fillings quite unlike the ones she packed for school lunch boxes. Kitchen disasters filled the earlier pages accompanied by salvage operations and quick fixes. Short cut procedures to traditional favorites were noted along with successes and failures. Later entries emphasized on lighter and healthier meals.

Manju didn’t want the book to be trashed but there were hardly any takers in the family. In these days of fast food and instant deliveries was there anybody who could make use of all that information. And then the thought struck her that Parul would be a grateful recipient.  

 Later in the afternoon, Parul found Manju dozing in the armchair and a bit restless. “Were you unable to rest in the afternoon? Did you have your lunch on time?”

“I was waiting for your arrival. How good are your reading skills?”

Taken unawares, Parul answered hesitantly, “I learnt to sign my name but I know little beyond the alphabets. “

“I was thinking of handing over some of the recipes.”

“What will I do with that big, fat book? I use only a few recipes. And anyway you are always available.”

“You think I’ll live forever.”

Parul wiped her eyes, “Ma what is all this talk about dying. Are you feeling unwell? Let me make you a cup of tea.” 

Barely had Parul moved when the latch clicked to let in Manju’s grandson Monty and his girlfriend Tanya.

Monty smiled beguilingly at Parul, “Can we also have tea and something to munch.”

Tanya noticed the book lying on Manju’s lap, “What is that ancient manuscript?

Puzzled by Tanya’s query, Manju looked around and saw Monty pointing towards her cook book. He laughed, “It is not a manuscript but the secret key that every morning sets our family on its feet. If this book is stolen we would all be lost. Why, even Parul would lose her job.”

Manju smiled to herself, Monty could sometimes be intuitive. This wasn’t just a compilation of cooking procedures it also recorded her progress from a novice housewife to becoming the family matriarch. It was a witness to her learning to balance resources with a growing family’s needs, her understanding of a child’s longing for a birthday cake, of a dinner to impress at a family reunion and of course the tea parties that were so critically assessed by her peers at the card table. Often Manju scribbled comments and tips along the margin. Turning the pages was a review on the health and wellbeing of her family. It was a compendium of cookery, market prices and useful information including quick fixes for minor kitchen injuries like cuts and burns.

 “Would you mind if I have a look?”

Manju was reluctant to hand over the book as it was falling apart; afraid that some loose pages would be misplaced or damaged.

Monty knowing Manju’s weakness; spoke with mock sternness, “Tanya you will be under house arrest if you try to steal any sensitive document and smuggle it to the enemy.”

“Have a look but I don’t think it will interest you.  These days young people aren’t in to cooking at home. I was trying to figure out a way to let Parul have a copy of some of the recipes that she uses. Unfortunately her literacy level is minimal.”

Out of politeness, Tanya glanced desultorily through some of the pages but soon became engrossed in the contents.  Many of the pages were dog eared, spotted with grease, splotched by liquids and spices.  This was a mini encyclopedia of matters related not only to the household but to family life that stretched over decades.  

 Tanya’s silence prompted Monty to quiz Manju, “The tea and snacks have been lying untouched. Are there dark family secrets behind the covers?”

“Stop talking nonsense. Family scandals aren’t written. They are housed in memories.”

Tanya wasn’t interested in the recipes it was all the other information about prices of groceries and fresh produce, of meat, poultry and fish and cooking fuels that caught her attention. These weren’t only facts and figures but a social commentary. Newspaper and magazine clippings that advertised fancy food items, shiny cookware and crockery were haphazardly filed. It was an eye opener that refrigerators were considered luxury items and that and their freezing capabilities were limited.

Manju was intrigued by Tanya’s interest and couldn’t help asking, “This is not like a regular book with an index. Are you looking for any particular recipe?  If you tell me I can see if I have what you want.”

Tanya smiled sheepishly, “The recipes are good but there are records that many people would be glad to lay their hands on. I work for an agency that provides facts and figures to entertainment and media companies. You have originals of bills, price lists and so much else that I would love to examine.

As for Parul, she can follow your recipes if you record them on the phone. If Monty isn’t too lazy, he can scan and print them out.”

“Thank you for the suggestion. I noticed that my cook book is on the verge of disintegration, the ink has faded and the script illegible towards the latter part. Others may not be able to decipher some of my shorthand or abbreviations and the dish might turn out to be a disaster.”

 Monty teased Manju, “Are you going to immerse your beloved kitchen companion in the river or bequeath it to an unknown stranger in your will?

“I am going edit and digitalize them for present use.  Some of the material is outdated but I have and will add relevant matter. I learnt along the way and I expect others to do the same.”

Monty was taken aback by his grandma’s reply. “You always come running to me when you mess up your phone. Who is going to help you with this major tech project?”

“I always believe that a genuine prayer is answered.”

“Surprise me. You found your savior.”

“Of course I have, he is Mr.Dey our new neighbor. A few months ago, he moved in to our neighborhood and had dropped in for a friendly visit. It didn’t take long to establish that we are both keen cooks and to top it he is a supplier for fish and meat to some of the well-known city restaurants.

Do you remember the prawn cutlets that were a hit at your birthday dinner? Mr. Dey organized the tiger prawns. They were expensive but cheaper than the market prices. So…”

“And now he wants all your recipes for the one time supply of sea food that wasn’t even free?”

“Monty, must you always interrupt. He happened to have noticed the tatty condition of my cook book and offered to help out. We had several discussions and decided that the internet would be a better option than print. A lot of editing and planning has to be done and it is happening slowly but it will happen.

Parul is my tried and tested apprentice and she deserves a copy of the popular dishes that she serves faithfully. Through the years she has also learnt to change and improvise. Also she keeps me abreast about the current food trends.

Whether the book ever gets a makeover is still uncertain but Parul is my first consideration.”

  Monty was momentarily silent and then burst out, “I don’t care what you do. Just don’t hand Dey the recipe for the prawn cutlets.”

Manju looked fondly at her grandson, “A recipe helps but it is the cook’s sweat and tears that transforms an ordinary dish to a mouthwatering one.”

Tanya decided that this was her chance, “If Parul has claims to some of the recipes may I make a request. You might scan all the clippings, bills etc but please don’t throw away the originals. If you do think of disposing those may I have the first refusal?”

Glossy illustrated books, internet reels, hastily scribbled recipes from mothers to daughters, friends and family members would always enliven dining tables. Manju hoped that a few of her recipes would continue to bring joy to her family in the future.

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