A DAY IN THE KITCHEN

Well, I already know the expression in your face. “Does he know how to cook?” Trust me, I have complete faith in my cooking skills and can even challenge more would-be-cooks (I have two friends in my list already).
Putting aside my bragging rights, I present you with my journal of slicing bodies and the third world war with the green producers.
Much to the banal routine that you see with your mothers, I started my day by waking up at around seven-thirty. That is two and a half hours after my mother’s alarm stops her sleep. Since we are religious folks, we make sure to wash the idols of our gods and goddesses. And so I did. Easy task, huh. Well, it is much more easier than you may think. From my childhood days, I loved to lend my hands when it came to washing utensils and cleaning the kitchen. So I loved to get my hands dirty in order to make my home clean. That is how it worked. There was only one obstacle that could hinder my routine: the freezing cold water! But, my ten years of stay in my Alma Mater, situated in the hills, taught me to neglect the shiver that greeted my hands. So, job done.
Moving on, I had my breakfast. To make it easy, I ate cornflakes and added some milk to get the maximum from it. The dress rehearsal for my kitchen war was over. It was time to invite the inevitable. I was gonna make Manasbi-curry (there is a reason to this name which comes later). 
I had been accustomed to realizing the key ingredients for curry but had sporadically mixed them when my mother was around. So, I had to estimate the quantity of salt and pepper in a delicious ratio. After sometime, the curry was ready and it smelled like heaven.
And you guys thought  I wasn’t good in the kitchen?

I waited for another thirty minutes to cook dal and once again, I got to tell you it was full of delight. When I served lunch for my mother, she was thrilled by the smell but noted that the flavor of salt was too faint in the curry. I had already a point to consider for my dinner plans. But, when someone is hungry the flavor doesn’t really matter. This philosophy had saved me at least for this time.

The end of lunch signaled the beginning of my passion to wash dishes. With my playlist making the work more enjoyable, I managed to clean the utensils with ease. Lovely.
I had a break until tiffin popped out. It is good to look for easy tasks when you are new to the job (well, actually it’s just that cooking really has not been a part of my DNA). Hence, I prepared beaten rice for the tiffin and decreased the trouble to cook by serving the pickle I had prepared in the morning. And if we were still hungry, dalmot was the perfect saviour. 
Slowly, as dawn neared, I returned to the kitchen and started preparing mushroom curry. I was adept at slicing tomatoes and onions. The knife perfectly synchronized with my daunting task of creating an á la carte. It appeared as if the curry was ready to acknowledge my innate cooking skills. I was gonna prove that the mistake early in the day was instrumental to preparing a perfect dish.
After nearly an hour, my mother once again acted as a customer. This time, the dish was polished. She was happy to have her son cook nearly-perfect meal (in my case, perfect is about 30% better than the day). The night dishes sparkled after we had a great dinner. It was time to cherish the golden moments of the amazing chef!
As I dozed off, I saw a dream where my mother said in an evil tone, “Do you think that once is enough? Have you enjoyed to be in the kitchen?  Hurry up, start your next kitchen war!” I woke up in an instant and entered the kitchen to have a sip of water. I had forgotten to wash some utensils! Once again, I found myself immersed in the beautiful kitchen war.
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