The Dreaded Dhokla Chronicles

One of the ambiguous pleasures of being a mum to a morning-school going toddler is having to fix her breakfast tiffin. I don't necessarily think that going to the kitchen the first thing in the morning before even addressing my camel breath is a mood-kill. I love cooking, so in a way being Ambrosia-like even at seven am gives me joy at some masochistic level. But get this. It was Thursday. Which spells the dreaded words D-H-O-K-L-A on her weekly menu. Nahin!!! Ye dhoka hai. 

Like Seriously...what's your secret?

For those of you who've never gone for high tea in an Indian household or have managed to overlook the savouries in a desi mithai shop or still haven't found their calling to take the great Indian train yatra to just about anywhere in India, let me paint you a picture. Dhoklas are light, airy, yellow savoury cakes made out of chickpea flour and semolina. Spiced with a bit of chilli, tempered with popping mustard seeds and curry leaves, garnished with coconut, soaking in a bit of sugar syrup for a mysterious angle, they're the most irresistible of street snacks.

Since even the street-corner chai waala seems to serve these airy delights with a breeze (pun not intended), I thought it only makes sense to open my somewhat-deft hands to them - well the pressure of cracking them seemed immense considering it now featured in my kid's weekly menu. Peer pressure in a nutshell y'all.

Let me just say that I've had my fingers burned, literally and figuratively, in the quest of making my Gujarati sistas proud (or just have me sit at their table.)

The curtain raiser to every one of my dhokla attempts started with my house-help talking about magic spells and secret ingredients (Did anyone whisper Eno?) and swishing of wands - aka - whipping spoons. I thought to myself, "Hmm...there's too much dependency on voodoo going on for a savoury delight that's as ubiquitous as the "I've got kids" hairdo at school drop-off." But whatever. I did everything diligently, with my nimbu mirchi on the side, and a prayer in my mind. Alas, it didn't rise. The first time. Or the second. Or even the third. I had to get my house-help to do it and it rose to the rooftops, like a surgically-enhanced bosom, shining in all its sun-kissed, velvety sheen.

I don't get it. Am I not giving it enough space? Is my dhokla relationship crumbling under the weight of pressure? Am I the cursed one?

Making instant dhoklas in the kitchen has been like living  in my own self-raised hell, for reasons I can't even begin to understand. But today something had changed. You see I put the dhoklas in the steamer and went to get dressed and just out of the blue, I got a strong whiff of smoke. I raced back to the kitchen waiting for a brand new disaster to greet me this morning. I opened the steamer.  Et voila! Amidst the mist of smoke, I could see the dhokla batter revealing itself to have risen perfectly! Tears of joy stream down my eyes as I attempt to unveil the pillowy magic on my plate. But no....wait! Let me do the tempering first. In a ruse to add the Jamnagar to  my nerve-jamming production, I temper it with mustard seeds and curry leaves and decorate it with coconut strands. 

I do a flip like the way the cooks on Masterchef do it, in my head the tense drumbeat ushering in uptempo flute-cello in the background. 

Wait, change that to an anti-climax music score. It was stuck. Even though it was perfect and airy outside, it was all gooey and mushy on the inside, much like me on Dhokla Thursdays.

With quivering lips, I gather it all up in crumbs and stuff it in Saanvi's tiffin. It's a gloomy Thursday. We're walking down to the rickshaw and I ask Saanvi to watch out for fresh dog-poo on the side, before staring at it for a good twenty seconds to appreciate the uncanny resemblance of it to her dabba contents.

Well, as Matt Preston would say, it's the taste that counts :).

Have any memorable cooking disasters to share? Nothing to be ashamed of, people!

Welcome To The Sorority of Mothers!

Image Source: Pinterest

I ring the bell. A young-ish, attractive lady with dark rings under her eyes, which I think is a trademark feature of nearly all moms including me, answers the door. I greet her with the sort of enthusiasm that deep down I know is kinda fake but on the surface, it seems only natural. She greets me back with a little less enthusiasm. I enter the room and the conversations gradually die down. It's a bit stifling to stand there, when four pairs of eyes that instantly flocked to me in warm welcome earlier, are now holding me at the door, sizing me up. OK, fine. I haven't seen them in a while and things are bound to change one way or another.

But wait. Is it me or do I sense a bit of hostility?

Me [sheepishly]: What's up guys? Am I late?
Mommy 1: No. Class is just about to end. Where were you?
Me: Oh! It's just that I come to the park a little late now. Household errands to finish. You know how it is.
Mommy 2 [looking straight out of a soap-opera ending]: We mean where were you at the beginning of class? We came in and saw Saanvi all by herself!
Me [quizzical face]: What do you mean all by herself? Mommy 3 told me class is going to start in ten minutes. And she asked me whether I wanted to stay to meet the teacher or leave. I thought I'll meet the teacher after class. And since, Kid 3 and Saanvi had settled down to play, there was no reason to stay.
Mommy 2 [catty smile]: WE wait for the teacher to come. Even though we'd love to take off for a run just like that.
Me [cattier smile]: Oh, do you? Join me tomorrow won't you? You need it.
Mommy 1: Stop it guys! Accha tell me. Is Saanvi going to a big school yet? Have you at least thought about which school you're enrolling her in....

I don't know how picking up my kid from a class quickly spiralled down to being an audition of "Who's the Crappiest Mom?"

But I know what was happening there. The sorority was beckoning me. They were punishing me for being lax with my kid. And taking them for granted. In the world of moms, UNACCEPTABLE!

Umm...have I lost you? Let me explain.

Maybe I should start by saying something about myself. You see, I have never been the kind of person who like to belong to a sorority or a club or any group of like-minded people. For that reason, I never was a part of any. I didn't join Rotaract or AISEC in college, even though most of the people I'd have liked to get to know better were a part of it. It's cos I'm just so much better at one-one conversations than group discussions. I also think that when you are a part of a big group, you act and behave differently — groups have a tendency of bringing out the ugly side of people. Fine, I'm just being weird about it. Well, the truth is I'm an introvert so that's got a lot to do with what I feel about large groups and gatherings. Sure, I'd love to belong to a sorority where everyone's got my back. But I've got my family and friends for that. That's just redundant then, isn't it?

So, it only came as a surprise to me, that after I became a mum, I was unknowingly pulled into the biggest sorority ever - the sorority of mums.

Initially, I didn't understand. I was enjoying the whole new independence of taking my baby out to the mall by myself but on an unfortunate day, she'd start wailing, producing unfamiliar, high-voltage sounds that could bring down the whole mall. I'd look around helplessly, pretending she wasn't my baby. And just out of nowhere, an empathetic mom would emerge and hold my baby for me while I got her feeding bottle out. We'd be sitting at a restaurant — well, I'd be sitting and my husband would be taking our baby sight-seeing around the restaurant while I continued to wolf down my delicious, steaming-hot sizzler. A mom from another table would look at me, smile and say, "I've been there." I'd be in the ladies room, in one of the booths with my three-year old daughter expounding at length the sacred ritual of my private business for the benefit of everyone. And I'd hear a giggle from the other booth and while washing hands, another lady, smiling ear-to-ear, would tell me how I'm never going to pee alone. EVER.

It took me a while to accept my unannounced, lifetime membership into the Universal Mommy club. But now that I am a somewhat-known member, I'd like to say Thank You! Thank you stranger moms for having my back when I needed it the most. Thank you society park moms for listening to my rants, even though most of them featured DIY jellyfish costumes, Peppa Pig anecdotes and the very popular "What are you paying your kid's nanny?"(Not that I have one.) Thank you mommy groups for teaching me how to say "Hang in there." or "I know what you mean" to other moms before sucker-punching them with "You should have known better."

Mostly, I'm happy to be in this beautiful, all-inclusive club that comes with  free playdates, Ellen Degeneres type heart-to-hearts and party favours. Although, I still don't know if I whole-heartedly BELONG to this wonderful tribe of women raising children. There are times when, I won't deny, I feel like I'm above just being a mom and I want to have a life of my own. A life that includes uninterrupted Game of Thrones marathons, writing guest columns for Vogue, Sangria nights with single women-friends and talking at length of vague, cotton-candy dreams and high-flying vacation itineraries. It is in those moments that I find myself withdrawing from this club. I find myself taking other moms for granted and judging them. I cringe away from moms who speak their mind a little too blatantly and tell me how to raise my kid. I feel both inspired and intimidated by moms who go a little over-the-top to add magic to their children's lives (while all I can do is add Maggi Magic Masala to my everyday aloo-gobhi).

But even in those weak moments, my sorority comes forth to the rescue and pulls me back. Sometimes, my tribe wants me to tag along and do everything with them, exactly the way they're doing it, including talking about the baby's bowel movements and romantic  in the same sentence. But mostly, they just plain understand me. And when, in my confused identity, I started relating more to my single friends or married friends without babies, my tribe stood there by me and guided me back. They make you appreciate how much fun it can be to raise a family and yea, the fact that they're also pretty much like me. Juggling their personal dreams with familial reality and going a wee bit crazy on the way.

And it occurred to me, that no matter what they'd say to me, no matter how much we'd annoyingly ramble on about baby fat, no matter what I'd feel about them, no matter how much I'd run and hide from them, we're sisters of the same sorority. For life.

And I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that.

Are you a happy mom? But do you also sometimes feel the need to pretend to be, you know, NOT a super-mom and just an ordinary girl wanting your ME-time? Mommies, I'd love to hear from you!