If food was a religion, I'd happily be a border-line theist. Waking up past 9, I was certain, I had missed the breakfast. But, it wasn’t so much a concern as I looked at my backpack and smiled, inside there was a newly acquired box containing honey-coated cornflakes.
As I met Urmila outside our tent, she asked if I had had breakfast, mornings around here are all about who managed to get up on time to have breakfast, as late nights are a norm.
We both knew we had missed breakfast, yet again. Then we got busy. Only when I walked out and was asked by one of the kitchen in-charge if I had breakfast, I realised, it had been an hour since I saw Urmila. He informed me that Urmila was in the kitchen.
Kitchen? Wow. That was mostly my first thought. When you get used to living in the tent the two important places you have to know of are the dining area and the bathroom. Usually the buffet style spread ensures you pick what you want and miss what you don’t. For 24 days, we religiously made a queue and filled our plates. And the thing about food is you can’t keep everyone happy. The kitchen guys have the toughest, and they never, I mean, never rebel. The day they do, this caravan of 450-odd people will know what it is like to go without a meal. So, mostly, I am grateful for the meals. They fare average and make my day when there is crisp jalebi. For me then, the overall food experience at the Yatra has been good.
When I crossed over to the kitchen that is behind the dining area what struck me was the ease with which Urmila blend in to the usual kitchen-chatter. Her back to me, sitting on a chair with a heap of fresh brinjal in between her and the other kitchen help, she was effortlessly cutting the vegetable and making small talk.
I looked at her in wonderment, personally, I would have never across over to the kitchen. Partly because a cooked meal in front of me makes me happy, for Urmila it was the most obvious thing to do, what mattered was when. She had been fondly talking about home and how she cooked for her family, almost missing her routine.
Being in the kitchen for her meant being closer to home, her deft hands and constant chatter showed how much she had missed home and cooking.
She eyed the bag of cauliflower and asked the head cook what he would do with the cauliflower stalk, as he garnished the kadi, he told her that it was waste, they only use the florets.
Urmila asked him if she could use some of the stalk. The head cook obliged, for him, it was waste anyway. After she had helped with cutting the vegetable, she asked for a small bowl in which she would cut the cauliflower stalk. There aren’t many small bowls around, so she settled for a serving bowl. Within no time she had managed to chop finely the cauliflower stalk, and asked for peanuts, dried whole chillies, a couple of potatoes, picking a handful of sliced onions and the masalas.
While everything was ready for lunch, the men in the kitchen had time to provide whatever Urmila demanded. It was fascinating how easily they all worked together to help her make a Manipuri veggie. As she got busy cooking they stood watching her.
Outside lunch was being served and the activity in the kitchen had reduced just a little. Amidst the newly formed camaraderie, she had managed to break the monotonous routine of the kitchen guys. She wasn’t just someone who had helped prep for dinner, she had shared stories of growing up in UP and for these guys, it was a welcome break, they had something in common – the areas in Uttar Pradesh, as much as she shared her stories she also asked them about their hometown, even touching the sensitive topic of the skewed sex ratio in the region – the preference for male child to girl child. Everything was discussed with such ease that only can come around food.
For the kitchen men who cook for all of us every day without complain, I thought that was a sweet gesture, Urmila making sabzi for them.
On a personal note, we had a good time in the kitchen, it was different from our regular routine as well and a welcome break.