Idhar Udhar Ki Baat

  “Woh jo saara paani absorb kar leta hai.” That was my three-year-old son’s answer when I asked him the meaning of Whisper . He had learnt the meaning of the word from a television advertisement for sanitary pads. A few days later, someone remarked, “Your son walks exactly like you.” Children copy whatever the parents do. Around that time, my neighbour, Mr Singh, had become the role model of every ambitious parent. His only son, Teetu, was born in the year an IIT topper had become a national celebrity. Mr Singh named his son after the topper, perhaps hoping that a little brilliance might arrive with the name. The entire household revolved around Teetu. In the weeks before his examinations, visitors were discouraged, the television remained switched off and all social engagements were cancelled. Nothing was allowed to interfere with his studies. One day, Mr Singh came to my office. “My parents are coming for my mother’s surgery,” he said. “Teetu’s half-yearly examinatio...

"Koi nahin... move on."    Those were my father's words when I looked at him in despair. I had just been admitted to Class VII. The problem was—I wasn't ready for it. A few weeks earlier, I had appeared for an admission test at a convent school.     "You know this?" the teacher asked.    "I no ," I replied confidently, shaking my head from side to side. I had no idea there existed a word called know  that sounded exactly like no .     Within minutes she announced her verdict.     "The boy can be admitted to Class III."      The problem was that I had already passed Class V from an Inglish-medium school in my village.      Fortunately, another school held an entrance examination a month later. My father arranged tuition, and I passed. But by then the only seat in Class VI had been filled by a transfer case. The school advised me to repeat Class V. Then destiny intervened.      One of my fa...

  “KFC and McDonald's are going to take over India. People will forget Indian food,” my NRI friend declared in 1996 with confidence. His prediction stayed with me. Over the next few years, I made it a point to try every new Western food outlet that opened. Out of curiosity, insecurity, and partly because of my complex which whispers, If it's Western, it must be better. The burgers, pizzas, fried chicken, salads, fries were good. Yet, after every meal, I felt something was missing. Nothing matched the comfort of simple Indian food. Give me a plate of Rajma Chawal —steaming rice, thick rajma cooked patiently for hours, and a spoonful of desi ghee slowly melting into it. It doesn't merely satisfy hunger; it somehow convinces you that life is under control. Or Kadhi Chawal . Soft pakoras floating in lightly sour kadhi. Every spoonful is gentle, almost as if your grandmother has quietly placed her hand on your head and said, “Have one more.” Then comes Chole Bhature ...