With ghee, cashews and love

I am hardly aware of the culinary skills of Nala and Bheema but my dad is a gastronome. He is definitely the best alpha male chef on the planet. His uncanny abilities at cooking  were discovered accidentally when my mother made a well-deserved-long-visit to her home town when my grand dad took to illness. I assured her that I'll take good care of dad. After all I'm adept at cooking in the doll house. The real kitchen should be no different.

We bid a bye to the teary eyed mom and opened the doors to freedom. No mom at home translates to no home work, no tuition, no early-to-bed, no No-TV. YES! Life cannot get any kinder. I realized that the blissful three lettered "YES" is no match to the duelling duo "NO".

"Dad! can I go out and play?"

"YES"

"Dad! Can I watch this movie?

"YES"

"Dad! can I go to the panipuri pushcart?"

"YES"

"Dad! can I bunk school?"

"YES"

I wonder he half-listens before the "Yes" plays on his lips. I was so engrossed in feeling the wind beneath my wings that I hardly missed mom until its time for dinner. No! The aroma of the delicacies didn't tease my nostrils. No! The steam spewing food wasn't served on a platter. No! My taste buds weren't bathed in the holy nectar.

"Dad! I'm Famished. Lets cook the dinner" I suggested the obvious. Dad folded his lungi to knee length in a 'Rajini' like style and jumped in to action at once.

"Close the front door and veil the windows of the veranda. Just in case my colleagues drop by" he winked. I caught up with him immediately and added in an extra loud voice that would get carried to my neighbors who are blissfully of my mother's absence "MOMMMM! YOU COULD USE MY HELP WITH THE VEGGIES" .  He grinned at my pretense and nodded his approval, passing on the basket of vegetables.

"I don’t fancy to eat ladies fingers. You better be careful with that knife" he exuded sarcasm.  I giggled sycophantically and chopped carrots leaving behind 2 centimetered stumps for the fear of inflicting a cut on my finely manicured fingers. 

"What next?" I asked rubbing my palms with infectious enthusiasm.

"Beet roots" he added.

"And then?

"Beans"

"what are we in for?" I inquired.

"Veg pulav" he made it sound in a really mouth watering way. " Pulav's are meant for  special occasions. Isn't it? let's celebrate your mom's-day-out with delicacies"

I chopped everything but for the onions which he did with blearily tearful eyes. I was cursing the assault on my senses when the aroma of ghee and cashews took me off guard so badly that I chomped on my phantom meal with my nose, twitching for more.

I could hardly wait as the cooker screeched the whistles as if I were famished for eons.  I gorged a spoonful of the steam spewing rice burning the tip of my tongue in the process. But never mind, I enjoyed the meal. 

"Dad! You are simply super human. You are 'The Rajinikanth'. You are the god of the gourmets". Dad seemed to have better satiety with my flattery laden admiration than with his meal.

I woke up the next day with a standard 'I-HATE-TO-DRINK-MILK' grimace but my face lit up no sooner than dad brewed a kaju-badam-kheer. Mom's deadly Idlee were were no match to his Panner  Dosa. My lunch box is packed with an epicurean meal which captivated all the foodies at school. Thanks to dad and internet, in the better part of the week  I got to taste Strawberry shake, Double ka meetha, Papdi chat, Mushroom matter curry, Panner 65, chicken lolipops, golden fried prawns and what not? 

When mom returned home after a week she squeezed me in to a hug and asked "You look famished! My Baby! How did he cook?"

I smiled and said "with ghee, cashews and lots of love".