You know how they say eating home-made stuff is better than store bought stuff? Balderdash. A couple of days back, in an attempt to make “healthy” icecream, I blended watermelon and orange, added home-made sugar syrup to it, froze it and had home-made “sorbet” for desert. Within hours, I started the mother of all flu. I could have just bought icecream from the neighbourhood shop than try out stunts like these. Between wanting to throw up, wanting to blow my nose constantly and wanting to curl up in bed, I have been largely dysfunctional through the weekend. A visit to the family doctor has put the spring back to my step now, although the stomach does threaten to empty its content at short notice.
I had a minor epiphany – actually I have always known it, but it just got reiterated. As I lay moaning and groaning on my bed last night, I yearned for my grandmother’s kashayam (herbal tea). At that moment, I realised (again) what cowcrap nostalgia is. When I was young, I avoided telling my grandmother that I was sick, if I could help it, for fear of her kashayam. Just thinking about the making-hole-in-the-stomach-spicy, hot liquid makes me want to scream. But the mind is such a fraud – it masks the unpleasantness with romantic imagination and convinces you that everything was better in the good old times – even kashayam.
Talking of grandmas – I think she passed some of her culinary skills to me when she died. For the past year or so, any food I make seems to come out good. Now for most people that’s not a big deal. I have consistently, for twenty years of my life, turned food to ashes by my mere presence, so it is funny how ever since paati died, I have been able to cook better. Macabre, I think.
I threw a tantrum today at a shop. The kid’s football coach wanted me to get her shin guards, now that she was playing serious matches and I took a detour to the sports shop to get one, on my way to school to pick her up. As soon as I asked for shinguards, the sales man asked “how old is the boy”. The fellow didn’t know what hit him when I started with “why do you assume that it is for a boy” and went on for the next three minutes about the evils of stereotypes. Fellow might have resigned his job after I left.
Have a good weekend folks.