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Some people discover their talents through burning passion. I discovered mine by dodging musical notes.
What I’ve learned over the years is that I can cook. In fact, I can cook quite well — when I feel like it, that is almost never. (HT File)
In seventh grade, I was faced with a choice of music or home science. While I liked music, the sight of all those sharp notes and flat symbols convinced me to retreat immediately. Home science — softer, safer, and seemingly quieter — felt like a better fit for my sensibilities.
To my surprise, almost everyone else chose music. I was one of the only two students in the class who ended up choosing home science. There, instead of clefs and scales, I learned to stitch patterns and cook two beginner recipes: A chocolate cake and northern-style poha. It was a modest start, but to me, it felt like a secret club of underappreciated skills.
Baking a cake in school was thrilling, until reality hit. We didn’t have a microwave at home. In the pre-internet age, finding a recipe required flipping through old magazines or catching fleeting cooking segments on TV. I was too young and lazy to dig deep. But dreams of baking followed me like the scent of cocoa.
Then came the moment of truth — my first cake at home. I don’t know what spell I cast on that batter, but it emerged like a hard-baked brick. My father took a bite and smiled in appreciation. That one act of kindness made failure taste like a strange kind of success. Years later, after a few edible attempts, I finally figured out how to bake cakes. Turns out, even a lazy person like me needed a little practice.
The second recipe, poha, was less dramatic but equally transformative. Our school version included green peas and a disturbingly generous swirl of tomato ketchup. My mother was unimpressed. “This is not poha,” she said, eyeing the plate like it had betrayed centuries of tradition.
She was right. It wasn’t poha, at least not the kind I would later taste in Hubli. That one bowl changed everything. From then on, no more peas or ketchup. Over time, I discovered the beauty of regional styles — Maharashtra’s kanda poha, Karnataka’s steamed version, even variations with crunchy coconut, roasted peanuts, or the occasional tomato. These subtle differences fascinated me. I now prepare poha as a complete meal, with potatoes, onions, lemon, and flair.
What I’ve learned over the years is that I can cook. In fact, I can cook quite well — when I feel like it, that is almost never. Maybe I wasn’t born to be a chef, only a food critic, evaluating every dish with a seriousness … from the comfort of the dining table.
Of course, my father believes in a more hands-on approach. He insists I contribute to kitchen work. I compromise with grace. I wash the dishes. It’s a fair system, really. Everyone wins. Especially me. So yes, I may be a lazy genius. But I’m a well-fed one — with clean plates.
gehnavaishnavi@gmail.com
The writer is a Panchkula-based freelance contributor
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