Happiness is a good cook, terms & conditions apply
The signs of a hectic work schedule had started showing up on our faces. Frequent skipping of breakfast and compensating the same with snacks and sugary drinks at the workplace were taking a toll on our health. Puffed faces, bloated tummies and decreased energy levels were hard to ignore. There was no fixed time for lunch or dinner as my gynaecologist wife had to dash off at the oddest of hours to deliver when it mattered the most.
Our college-going children saw advantage in the disadvantage. Nonavailability of home-cooked food didn’t worry them a wee bit. Swiggy and Zomato were always at their disposal.
Fed up with the exasperating pace of work and her deteriorating health, my wife decided to hire a cook to provide healthy meals to the family and keep the kitchen in working order. The search for a cook well versed in North and South Indian dishes began without much ado. A notice was put up on the hospital’s board and frantic calls were made to friends and relatives to find a cook who could manage our health and lives from going into disarray.
A month-long search for the right cook was about to hit a dead end when a middle-aged woman receptionist at our hospital expressed her desire to be our gastronomical saviour. “Ma’am, I have two conditions,” she said to my wife. “First, a Hindi newspaper to read and second, I need two holidays a month to go to court to attend the hearing of a long-standing property dispute,” the prospective chef added without batting an eyelid. My desperate wife lost no time in accepting the terms.
Two weeks into her new job and the woman at the helm of affairs was ready with a new set of demands. “I’ll decide the menu according to the availability of vegetables and fruits. Two, I need a clay tandoor on the rooftop. Three, I need a patch to grow vegetables in the garden.”
Not sure if we would find a better candidate, we agreed to her terms.
Our new cook took to the kitchen like a duck takes to water and thus began our smooth journey on the highway of eating right and staying healthy. Our children tried their best to resist the perestroika but to no avail. Eventually, they relented on the condition of freedom to eat out on the cook’s off days.
The eclectic menu drafted by the masterchef was able to lure our children back into the habit of relishing home-cooked food. Sunday is reserved for tandoori cuisine, Monday for South Indian dishes, Tuesday is fixed for parathas buttressed with freshly churned butter and rajma chawal is an eagerly awaited dish on Wednesday.
Our chef’s culinary skills have started showing on our health and minds. We are focused at work and don’t feel guilty while telling our patients about the benefits of homemade food over fast food.
Earlier, whenever my wife rued about the lack of time due to the compulsions of her profession, I would try to cheer her up by saying, “Happiness moves on busy feet.” Now she doesn’t lose any opportunity to quote the formula of happiness put forward by Jean Jacques Rousseau, a Genevan polymath, “Happiness: A good bank account, a good cook, and a good digestion.” Frankly, I can’t agree more.
TWO WEEKS INTO HER NEW JOB AND THE WOMAN AT THE HELM OF AFFAIRS WAS READY WITH A NEW SET OF DEMANDS