The Dilemma

 

It was one of those chilly winter days when the temperature was nearly reading in negative. The view outside my twenty-fourth floor gave the impression as though the apartment was hanging in the air. The ground could not be seen and the sky was hazy. The entire building was enveloped with dense fog.

I had a dinner party and my entire day had gone sorting out the house. So I just thought of relaxing having a cup of hot coffee. Chandana is about to come, maybe I should make one cup for her as well, I thought as I put the pan on the stove. As I settled sipping my hot cappuccino my phone rang. Chandana calling, it flashed. Maybe she is coming a little late today, so she is calling to inform me, I thought.

I took the call and heard the soft voice of my cook crooning in Bangala. “Something... Something...Something... Aami aasbo na.”

I was like, what? Why?

In the whole conversation, I could only understand that she was not coming. We had a deal just a day before that as I am keeping dinner at my house so she has to come, come what may! It was impossible for me to go ahead doing all the cooking alone.

In a wavering voice, I asked her in a little bit of bangla that I had learned from her, “Kee hoobe Chandana?”

Hearing me speak bangla her confidence raised. She said, “Something...Something... Something ...Aami ashbo na.”

This time I conjured up from the references made to the railway station and the train that her local has been cancelled and she will not be able to come. Sigh!

So now my preparations had to take a U turn and go in a way I had not planned for. It took me a couple of minutes to reboot myself. I mentally prepared a list of ‘to do’ things. Quickly gulping down the coffee I set myself upon the mission of preparing the dinner.

Chicken biryani was one of the things on the menu. So I set myself upon the task of making this Sunday special surprise! I quickly took out the chicken from the refrigerator to thaw. Washed the basmati and soaked it in water. And in order to not waste time, set the pan on the stove with oil in it, to warm up. Then I set myself on the most important task, of chopping onion!

Now, chopping onions is one thing that literally makes me cry and I always land up with tears rolling down my face. Not that onion and I don’t get along well. It’s the most important ingredient in all my recipes. It’s just the chemical components in the humble onions.

After the chopping was done with some rounds of wiping tears I assumed the role of a Master Chef. I threw into my wok some cumin seeds like a professional. After my cumins cracked in the oil and attained a perfect color I quickly added the finely chopped onions. In the meanwhile, I had washed my hands to remove the onion odor so accidentally some water dripped from my hands into the oil.

I heard a spluttering sound and saw a little flame in my wok. A scene from Master Chef flashed before my eye, where the expert chefs toss vegetables with a ‘little’ fire in the skillet. You are acquiring the skills of Master Chef mumma, I said to myself proudly with a smile.

Soon I realized that the flames were getting higher and higher and were about to reach the level of the chimney.To my horror, I saw a few drops of grease oil hanging from my chimney!

Oh no! I screamed as the realization dawned upon me that it was not the type of flame I see in Master Chef but ‘something really dangerous.’

What should I do? I started panicking. Should I call for help? Should I tell my family to vacate the house? What if the chimney catches fire? What if the fire reaches the gas pipeline? What should I do? As these thoughts raced my mind I realized that if I don’t take a quick action I may land up the entire building in serious danger.

With a sudden instinct of a Ninja warrior, I hopped across to the other end of the kitchen saying ding ding ding ding in my mind. (Those of you whose kids see Ninja Hattori can probably relate to this). I picked up the lid of the pressure cooker lying on the slab and rushed back to the wok. Immediately I kept the lid on the wok and cut down the oxygen supply feeding the fire. Thus bringing down the fire before it could have grown into something unimaginable.

I opened the windows to let out the foul smell of the burned humble onions. And looked at the burned utensils with a deep sigh. Socha tha kya, kya ho gaya :(

I was hoping to fill my house with the spicy aroma of the biryani and now all that I could smell and see was fog outside and smoke inside and the burned smell of onions.

To be continued... with another blog coming up on the prevention of fire in the kitchen :)

Disclaimer: For my well-wishers. Except for Chandana saying “Aami ashbo na” everything is fictional.😆