THE STAPLE DIET

My mother if she wanted to pamper me; would ask, “What would you like to eat; my
son?” when I came home during vacations from a boarding school.
I had only two options: Roti or Rice. I am not supposed to say ” Mom !!!! I would like to have Roti as well as Rice”.

With each meal, invariably there will be one vegetable – cooked with curry or shallow fried. When the mother was in good mood, she will cook two vegetables. Pickle was always there. Radish and onion, if not there in the plate, my father will invariably demand it. With rice there will be Dal and roasted papad.

No eggs or chicken at home. My mother had never touched an egg, in her life. Non vegetarian food was never cooked in generations. In-case I needed to have an egg, I was asked to go out of the house. Before entering home I was supposed to wash hands with soap, that too in front of the watchful eyes of the mother. I cannot say I have washed it already.
My grandmother never ate in a restaurant, or a meal cooked by an unknown person. On pilgrimage, she used to eat that was either cooked by her or relatives.

Occasionally we sweet dish. Most of the veggies had the same ingredients and cooked in the same fashion. She did try to make egg less cake one day that my father learnt from senior officer’s wife. It was burnt badly at the bottom. It tasted like burnt toast with caramel. She however did not give up. The dish improved over time.  She cooked caramel custard pretty well. Often we used to ask her to prepare it.

My father never had drinks at home or at business. I only saw villains drinking in hindi cinema. I asked father one day if he has ever tasted the forbidden juice.
He replied that his father never drank nor his grand father. And they have gone to heaven. I didn’t know how to react.

A friend once presented a bottle of beer, on his birthday. He could not say NO. The prized bottle was kept inside a shelf for couple of months, under lock and key, by my mother. Whenever he wanted to taste, my mother will say it is too late …have it the next day…. what is the need….. have a lemon juice instead….I cannot remember where it is kept…….

He had never tasted beer earlier. The bottle was kept inside the cupboard, hidden from my father, for almost a year. On his subsequent birthday, he insisted to open the can. Mother gave me the bottle to hand it over to him. But this time I hid the bottle, in my school bag. I thought he is going to get drunk and beat my mother and scold all of us and force us to study. Later, on persistence demand, I gave the bottle on a condition that he will not touch the mother and quietly go to sleep.

It was summer. We did not have the fridge as it was considered a luxury. My father suddenly remembered that beer should be consumed when it is chill. I was asked to carry the bottle hidden inside a bag, to the PWD Inspection Bungalow, the only place in town that had a fridge. I was carrying the bottle in my hand. Mother stopped me. Wrapped the bottle in a newspaper. Then It was kept in my school bag. I was asked to keep it inside the chilled tray for 45 minutes and then come running as fast as possible.

Beer was poured in a glass, half of which spilled. He took a sip. Found it bitter. Made faces. I asked if it tasted like fruit juice, tea, coffee or coke. He preferred not to reply. I did not give up. Asked second time; if it tasted like cucumber juice. He gave me a tough look. I thought he got drunk with one sip. He took another gulp. Did not like the taste. He looked at the mother. She looked at me and asked to bring sugar from the kitchen. four spoons of sugar was added in the beer, and my father relished it.
Father drank only one glass. Cursed the Britishers to introduce this bitter juice. My mother and sisters washed their hair with the rest of the beer, the next day.

My family is no different. After marriage, my brother brought ten bottle of liquor. I was working in a small town in Tamil Nadu. I never drank alone. So I called my friends one after another. The party lasted for five days. But only two bottles were consumed. My wife, nor her ancestors, had ever touched alcohol. On the sixth day she lost her patience as I was about to invite my friends.
She wore shoes. I thought she is going for a jog. Brought all the eight bottles to the bathroom. She raised the bottle and dropped it from a height. Picked up the second bottle … dropped once again. Picked up the third… then the fourth. I said to myself : “Come What May I am Not Going To Get Angry.”
When she picked up the eight bottle, she asked what kind of man are you ? Why you are not upset or angry ?
I Said , “I am waiting for the gravity to stop working.”
She dropped the idea of dropping the bottle. I preserved the memento and used it for my birthday.

Once my grown up son was coming to India. I asked him to buy two bottles from a Duty Free shop. When my wife came to know, I was given 30 minutes lecture. She thought I am spooling son. Then she called up the son and not to bring any liquor for his spoiled dad. Son did not know whom to listen.

My wife knows how to cook Chawal Roti and continues to do so very well. It is however supplemented with influence from the west.  Liquor and chicken is not a taboo anymore. Once in a blue moon I am allowed to have beer with the staple diet.