So as I told you the other day, Mi, I’ve started to tackle The Boxes. Hopefully I will keep up the pace and then move on to The Cream Cupboard followed by The Bookshelves. The dream of that wall-to-wall bookshelf in your room is alive […]
Memories from another day . . .
So last night, very cleverly I stacked the pressure cooker, feeling very proud of myself for deciding on dinner in my head while walking, Mi!
Fifteen minutes later not a peep from the cooker! Also, a strange smell. Of course we assumed it was not our kitchen. Then anyway, seconds later I thought I’d check and imagine my surprise to see fumes coming from around the handle of the cooker! Gosh. And when I touched the weight, no hissing! I quickly turned off the stove. And waited.
Then of course we had a small conference in the kitchen, contemplating over the next step. I absolutely forbade everyone to touch the cooker. Simply because I recalled how, years ago, we had attempted to open the cooker and the next thing we knew was….
rice rice everywhere and all the walls did stink!
rice rice everywhere and nary a thought to think!
Yeah okay … and I remembered how chunks had stuck to the ceiling and the walls and practically every possible surface and utensil. And there 9-year-old Vidur was, impatiently waiting to leave for school, pacing the living room. And you, you were so worked up about it until I thrust a cup of coffee in your hand and ordered you to sit in your chair until I came back from dropping off Vidur, so we could tackle the mess together. We made such lame jokes over that!
Gosh. As an aside, a few years ago, someone visited and wanted to know what happened to the kitchen ceiling when she saw the wipe marks.
So anyway–we decided to wait ten minutes. Then I opened the cooker. The water in it had evaporated and hence the fumes. Turned out the gasket was loose. So no pressure. So water evaporated.
What about dinner? I had kept kabuli chana, rice and aalu. All had perfectly cooked. Go figure!
Anyway, we enjoyed our dinner.
Yesterday I made chhole puri.
Today I made dum aloo.
So …. all is well that ends well, it seems.
Funny no? I didn’t even stress over it. My only worry was opening the cooker too soon because–ugh–cleaning up would be horrendous.
Okay, I am going for a walk.
By the way, remember those days when you would say you felt “fumes” Mi? I feel like that now sometimes. A weird smell stuck to my nose. Triggers with certain things. Unrelated things like (gasp!) coffee–which should actually be holding me in its trance with […]
You know, I always mean to tell you this, Mi! Remember that mynah we’d hear the moment we woke up? Those days when we had our bedrooms in the adjacent rooms? It continues to sing! It is like a precious connection–as in, one of the things that haven’t changed. Nice warm feeling.
As I sip my morning coffee, I enjoy listening to its incessant but persistent call. It is like a recording that plays in a loop. And i remember how we used to stand in the balcony and fantasize and make lofty plans. Of transforming the house. Of the future. Joking about it and then laughing as we turned to our routine to do those mundane things that had to be done.
Not very different now, except that I do the meal planning with Vidur, who is such a pleasure to spend time with. So grateful that he’s home this summer. I love how he appreciates my cooking and as we eat together, I regale him with stories from his childhood, about the time he spent with you, nudging memories long forgotten. Sometimes I wonder how he does not remember, but then I remind myself that he was growing up and it is only natural for specifics to fade away. I am just glad that he does retain the happiness he felt being with you. I must sit with the albums one of these days. Been wanting to do that you know. Also scan some of the stuff.
Sigh. I wonder what I’ll do with all the stacks and stacks of film negatives from the old days. Then there are the boxes of vinyl records. Then the boxes of audio cassettes and video tapes. How crazy I was to collect them. In fact, how crazy to live through all these decades. I just wish sometimes that I had given away all these things. I did try with the books. All those trunks full of books we gave away before we moved . . . and all those clothes. Nice feeling to think of those days.
I wonder if they remember us? I wonder what they are doing now?