Something’s Cooking

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This week I am posting an unpublished chapter from an unpublished book. I had started on a story idea a few months back but never got back to completing it. I chanced upon it this week while thinking of something funny to write.

Who knows – perhaps it might go into the next novel from the world of Jigneshbhai and Swami. Here follows what is, as of now, an uncooked dish, but which I had named, at that time, as ‘Something’s Cooking.’

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Jigneshbhai and Swami gulped a spoonful of the thirteenth and last dish participating in the annual organic cooking contest for which they had been invited by Shridhar Mama as judges. As part of the preceding twelve, they had relished whole wheat chapatis, fruit salad based on organic milk, sandwiches with organic jams and even a chickpea organic soup. It was after a lot of deliberation which needed repeated tasting of multiple dishes (which Jigneshbhai didn’t mind), that they decided that the winner of today’s cooking competition was the organic spinach paneer dish.

“I never knew that a job like this existed,” Jigneshbhai remarked licking another spoonful from the prize winning dish. “If I knew it when I was twenty, I wouldn’t have started my business,” he added. Swami tapped on his friend’s rotund belly and said, “This would have been double its current size then.” Shridhar Mama broke into his loud guffaw that reverberated throughout his farmhouse. Thirteen participants from the nearby villages laughed with him adding to the merriment.

The day was bright with magical sunshine. The soft breeze and the blue skies made it a perfect day for the annual contest that Shridhar Mama started a few years back to encourage local villagers. For the past couple of years, he had started inviting a few urban types to the annual event. It was a day out for everyone. It was a day to taste the organic recipes from the nearby villagers based on the fresh vegetables and fruits in Shridhar Mama’s farmhouse – Prakriti Eco farm.

One would have thought that on a day like this, Shridhar Mama would be at his exhilarating best. And that had always been the case for the past few years. But this year, Swami felt that he was a bit off colour. And the reason was not far too see. For an informed eye, it was clear that the cause for his worry was his wayward son Venky.

The youngest among cousins, Shridhar Mama’s son Venky grew up on a recipe of constant comparisons with his elder cousins. One of them was Swami Anna, the role model to emulate, who he must be like. And the other was Balu Anna, Raji Periamma’s son, the role model to neglect and be wary of, who he must not be like.

Venky probably misinterpreted the recipe of instructions and reversed them. He completely avoided being like Swami. In fact, to a large extent, he ended up being far from Swami’s academic accomplishments which, even in the luckiest of circumstances, were way beyond his reach. He attempted, instead, to be like Balu Anna which didn’t amount to much, and was much easier. Because till very recently, Balu was a good-for-nothing whose college going son’s educational needs, only of late, awakened the fatherly responsibilities within him.

But Venky couldn’t rise up to Balu’s level of incompetence as well. At his best, Balu was a harmless dunce, and at his worst, he was a timid small-time crook. And he knew it. But Venky at his best was a dimwit who didn’t know it, and at his worst, was a smart alec with a needless, adventurous side. That side spurred him to action and got him into trouble. And that penchant for misadventure was what worried Shridhar Mama.

“Well you may think that this is not an appropriate forum and occasion for me to raise my filial concerns,” Shridhar Mama started pulling out from his lexicon. Jigneshbhai asked Swami in a whisper what filial meant. But such interruptions don’t affect Shridhar Mama whose relentlessness in the use of verbose English is his defining trait.

“But now that the cookery competition is over and we find ourselves in the close-knit company of each other, I thought it best to muse upon this topic before you take leave. I think it would serve the best interests of my adult offspring if your attention is directed towards his recent misadventures.”

Shridhar Mama and his volley of long sentences fell on Swami and Jigneshbhai like an avalanche snowballing with every roll of words. And he was just getting started. He took a pause to catch a breath. That’s when Swami barged in to interrupt Shridhar Mama’s snowball.

“Venky is still young, Mama. He will find his way,” he reassured the worried father, while tying his shoelaces.

Shridhar Mama had a gaze that Julius Caesar might have had before saying Et Tu Brutus. Swami’s reassurance felt like a knife of the great betrayal to Shridhar Mama. He was expecting more empathy from his responsible nephew.

“Well, I have been waiting for him to find his way for the past ten years.” Shridhar Mama continued. “But he seems to be a perpetually lost traveller who has neither a map nor a destination. Forget about these important details, he doesn’t even have a compass for general direction.” He went into a travel toolkit for the journey of Venky’s aimless life.

“He goes from one thing to another every few months. And what others are doing affects him more than what he is doing, which in general over the past ten years hasn’t amounted to much.” The father was not mincing any words in his demonstration of filial affection.

Staring blankly at the prize winning organic spinach paneer dish at the top of the table, towards which Jigneshbhai too stole a cursory glance, Shridhar Mama continued his heartfelt compliments towards his errant son.

“The only noteworthy achievement of his educational life was the bagging of a beautiful, rich and, I now think, an impulsive, naive girl, as his wife. I was surprised with the fact that he cleared his college exams. But what shocked me beyond measure was the reality that this girl, who deserved better in life, agreed to marry Venky. In fact, I remember asking her twice before agreeing to bind them in marital vows. One has to be considerate when one is knowingly pushing someone down the cliff.”

Jigneshbhai broke into a small chuckle. On the day of Venky’s wedding a few months back, this was the exact question that he had asked Swami. How did this girl agree to marry Venky? Swami’s lips curled on one side as he tried to restrain his smile during what was a serious conversation about his youngest cousin’s future. Shridhar Mama was immune to all such distractions and continued.

“I thought marriage to a girl used to better standards of living will make him more responsible. But all it has ended up doing, I reckon, is to make him more adventurous in pursuit of keeping up with the Joneses. Though I don’t know why keeping up even with the lowliest Joneses should be difficult for someone like him who doesn’t have much to keep up with. Any addition to zero is a positive number.”

Shridhar Mama went on and on throwing one compliment after another on his son. Jigneshbhai and Swami, all set to leave, looked at each other. But Shridhar Mama wasn’t coming to the point, which was, in reality, he being himself. He took another pause for breath allowing Swami a chance to direct him to the point.

“So what is his latest misadventure, Mama?” Swami sneaked in what sounded like a précis question after an odyssey. Shridhar Mama came straight to the point in a hurry.

“Well, he thinks I should commercialise Prakriti Eco farm. And that I should hold this organic cooking competition more often. And that I should get sponsors for it. That I should invite more urban folks like you to promote organic food. And I should have healthy walk and healthy run events at the farm. And what not. And most importantly, I should fund his misadventures which he, without any compunction, calls as business ideas!”

For once, Jigneshbhai, though he briefly wondered what compunction meant, felt that, while not nature and Mama friendly, this wasn’t a bad business idea, if done well. Swami, on the other hand, thought it would be impractical for him to eat thirteen organic dishes every weekend, if the cooking contest is held more often. And it would be impractical to expect him to participate in healthy walk and run events after judging the dishes, for sure. He didn’t quite like it. Shridhar Mama nipped the bud of optimism in the happy mind of Jigneshbhai before it could flower any further.

“Before you start attributing the credit for such business ideas to the bairn of our family, let me warn you that it has not come from his brain. Pun intended.” Shridhar Mama laughed aloud alone at the pun of words that he had used.

“It has originated from his observation that Discovery Farmland, the property next to this one is trying similar commercial experiments now. After its Seventh Heaven project failed to take off, you might have noticed some billboards around organic farming at Discovery Farmland on your way here. That’s the reason for the newfound business acumen of my progeny.”

Shridhar Mama took a long pause after his tirade while Swami and Jigneshbhai mused over this new development. But it didn’t take long before he continued.

“I have rejected this idea, lock, stock and barrel. And I fear that he will engage in some other misadventures now that the easiest option is closed. Therefore, I wish that you talk to the youngest scion of our family and guide the heir apparent to the Prakriti Eco farm towards more fruitful ways of keeping up with the Joneses.” Shridhar Mama, after a brief interlude with to-the-point sentences was back to his melodramatic speech.

“I must also forewarn you that, as part of his plan, after my rejection of it, he briefly mentioned that he would not hesitate to fund it by selling our ancestral property,” Shridhar Mama threw a bombshell.

“Ancestral property?” Swami asked with the curiosity of a cat.

“Yes, the dilapidated structure that they now refer to as a mansion, though as per my dictionary, a crumbling edifice is a more appropriate description, if you have seen it, of late,” Shridhar Mama minced no words letting us know what he felt of the ancestral building.

“Oh, is it? You mean the one in our village? I haven’t seen it in years,” Swami said.

“Well, Yes, that’s the one. Even I haven’t seen it for a couple of years. It was a largish structure that your grandfather had built on top of a house that his father had built,” Shridhar Mama informed us.

“Oh I see,” Swami remarked.

“No, you don’t see, Swami,” Shridhar Mama implored. “I can only pray to God that you see the path that my adult offspring is taking and stop him in his steps before he moves any further,” he added in desperation.

It was at precisely that moment that Swami heard a familiar sound of a car. It grew louder after every minute. Caught in the moment, Swami thought it was Venky. But Jigneshbhai reminded him that he had sent his driver Puttuswamy to fill up petrol in his car for our return trip. He had come back and it was time for us to leave. With a promise to talk to Venky, Jigneshbhai and Swami got up to leave Prakriti Eco farm.

As we got out of the gate of Prakriti, at the turn we saw a young man standing next to a bike waving out.

“Stop,” Swami told Puttuswamy. “It’s Venky,” he added looking at me and Jigneshbhai. We wondered what was cooking.

***