Piyaar Khaan Leyi – II

For the love of food.

Two strangers, two separate nationalities , one thing in common – their love for food. Can food conquerth it all?

“Run Aahil run! What are you doing? The ball is right there!!! Oh God, how could you miss this?”, screamed Aahil’s father from the benches of the cricket stadium of Aahil’s school in Lahore. Every morning it was the same rigorous ritual; Aahil was dragged out of the bed before sunrise, made to run 2 kms, followed by cricket practice at his school stadium at 6.30 am. He hated it, but had no choice but to comply to his father’s wishes. His father was a province-level cricket player, now working as a lawyer at Lahore District court. He couldn’t make it to the national team due to politics of Pakistan Cricket Selection Board, but he was determined to get his son into the team.

Aahil was the only son, born to his parents after 7 long years of marriage. His mother, due to the pregnancy complications, died soon after. He had been raised by his loving grandparents. His grandfather was a retired Military officer, and Aahil loved his grandfather the most. He too, was apple of his eyes – his prince, his “Aahil”. Aahil spent all his childhood in the lap of his loving Dadamiyaan, listening to umpteen stories of his school days, college days, partition, wars with India. He always wondered how different his father and Dadamiyaan sounded while speaking of India – his father was always bitter, cursing their cricket team each time they won over Pakistan, and his grandfather was always compassionate, regretful of the Partition and wars, the troubles between the two countries; fuelled by ISI and corrupt leaders.

Little did Aahil’s father know, as he trained his son to become a world class cricketer; that though Aahil was naturally talented, he despised cricket. His cricket ensured he could pass each class with bare minimum scores, under the pretext of various camps he attended. but his real passion was standing next to his Dadi in the kitchen, taking in the aroma of her delicate spices mix as she cooked Bhuna Mutton Masala (Mutton Roasted in Indian spice mix) with Naan (Flat bread). Aahil loved cooking, he found it to be an art – a skill that could be mastered only with practice, knowing how much salt to put and when. As his Dadi’s vision grew weaker due to cataract, Aahil went on to assist her, putting the various herbs as instructed by her, admiring her talent of determining if something is cooked just by the aroma.

When Aahil was 16 and preparing for under-19 selections of the national team, he heard about a show called “MasterChef Australia” from two of his female classmates, talking excitedly to each other about it. He looked for it at YouTube and before he could finish the fourth episode of Season 3, YouTube was banned in Pakistan. But Aahil had found his true calling in life – he wanted to be a famous chef with an established chain of restaurants across the world. He wanted to bring the secrets of his Dadi’s cooking to the world, and more importantly, he wanted to open a restaurant in the heart of New Delhi – his Dadamiyaan spoke a lot about the amazing food he had in the streets of Chandni Chowk on his delegation visits. He wanted to go there, eat their street food and be able to visit the Taj Mahal he had only seen in photos.

He inquired more and got to know about International Center for Culinary Arts, Dubai. He was scared, he wanted to join ICCA, but was worried about his father’s wrath at his disinterest towards cricket. But his Dadi-Dadamiyaan encouraged him to talk to his father.

“Abbajaan”, he entered tentatively in his father’s room.
“Oh, you are still up? It’s 11 pm already Aahil. You will be late for practice tomorrow”, his father lifted his head from his legal literature in surprise.
“Abbajaan..there is something I have to t.t..t..tell you”, he stammered.
“What is it Aahil? Are you alright? Are you nervous about the selections day after tomorrow?”, his father spoke as he called him closer and stroked his hair.
“Abbajaan..I d..don’t want to be a crick..crickter. I want t..t..to be a chef. I w..want to g..go to I..CC..A, in D..D..Dubai”, he spoke, shit scared of the severe lashing he was about to get.
“Are you out of your mind? Do you even know what you are saying? Please tell me it is just your fears speaking. I think it is the result of that stupid YouTube and that show that you used to see. Thank God they banned it. Go to your room, there is nothing called chef. You are born to be a cricketer, not a khaansaama ( a male cook/servant) at a hotel!!!”, his father yelled.
“What’s going on? Atif, why are you yelling at Aahil?”, Dadamiyaan came, limping slightly in the absence of his cane.
“Your beloved grandson wants to become a khaansaama Abbu, can you believe this nonsense?”, Atif cooled a little in the presence of his father, but the anger remained.
“Yes I know. And I also know that you love cricket, but he doesn’t. I think it is time you let him make his own decisions.”, Dadamiyaan replied quietly.
“Abbu do you realize how much money I have spent on his cricket training? And how much more we will need to send him to Dubai? Your love for Aahil is making you blind to all practicality!”, Atif lost his temper again.
“I have it all planned Atif. You need not worry about it. We shall sell a portion of our land in the village to your uncle. Anyway, we haven’t been there in years and he takes care of it as it is”, Dadamiyaan replied.

Atif didn’t know what to say. He knew his Abbu, if he had thought of something, he was going to see that things fell into place. He always had a feeling that Aahil didn’t enjoy cricket, but chose to ignore it. It took him two weeks but finally he relented, and Aahil applied to ICCA, Dubai. His application was selected and two months later, he joined the class of extremely talented students, some of whom even knew how to use those fancy kitchen gadgets!

It took a lot of grit and hard work for Aahil to make his mark at ICCA, cricket didn’t seem so tough! But he did well. And his ecstasy knew no bounds when he obtained the much coveted internship at the Taj Palace Hotel, Dubai. Little did he know that this experience was going to change his life forever.

Featured Image : Andie Mitchell

Piyaar Khaan Leyi – I

For the love of food.

Two strangers, two separate nationalities , one thing in common – their love for food. Can food conquerth it all?

Kota, a sleepy town in Rajasthan, is an important junction on the Delhi-Bombay route. Around a decade ago, this city became famous as the “Coaching Junction” of India, with coaching institutes for Medical and Engineering mushrooming at all corners. The phenomenon started with a couple of teachers taking tutions for high school students and soon manifested into a full fledged business. Every year, lakhs of students from all parts of the city come to Kota to try their destiny at the most prestigious competitive exams of the country. These young kids, merely 14-16 year old, stay miles away from home, study 12 hour a day under immense pressure, to crack these exams and become their parents’ pride note in front of all neighbors and relatives. Many crack under pressure, they start drinking, smoking, give up on studies and merely languish their parents’ hard earned money. Some thrive in it, they become better and better and become the faces of their alma mater when they clear the exams- AIR 20, AIR 50, AIR 200, so on and so forth. And in between them, is the clueless crowd, pushed into this hugely competitive scenario by ambitious parents, too scared to tell their parents that this is not what they wanted, trying to fight the losing battle.

Agamjeet was a classic example of this middle range of people, he had been mediocre all throughout his life, except in 10th, when his love for Social Studies and English made him one of the toppers at his prestigious school at Delhi. His father, a doctor at Delhi Health Services and his mother, a Delhi Development Authority employee, were ecstatic and decided to enroll him in Bansal Coaching Classes at Kota, just like their neighbors, the Kalras. The reluctant Agamjeet was packed off with clothes, tons of books, stationery and dozens of his Mom’s snacks in the Jan Shatabadi. 15 days later, he came back, with only his clothes in tow, he couldn’t take the high pressure classes and indulged into binge eating on a regular basis; the snacks that were supposed to last him for 2 months, got over in 10 days.

Agamjeet decided to pursue Arts; his parents were disappointed but gave in to their only son’s seemingly unreasonable demands. He loved his subjects, and continued to do well. Just like that one day, he stumbled upon season 3 of Master Chef Australia, a world acclaimed series of amateur cooks battling against each other to become the country’s top chef. Agamjeet was not interested in the competition, it was the dishes they prepared that interested him. The use of ingredients, herbs, meats, vegetables in unique ways seemed mindbogglingly amazing to him. He knew then and there what he wanted to do with his life – He wanted to be a famous chef with his own established chain of restaurants. He started following numerous food bloggers and began his stint as a cook in his Mom’s kitchen. His mother was pleasantly surprised to see him at her side everyday, observing what she did; his father showed no qualms in expressing his displeasure,”Sadaa eklauta munda khanaa bnaauna sikhna chaahunda hai? Lokki ki kehendenge, Dr. Chhabra da munda dhabaha chalaaunda hai?” (Our only son wants to learn to cook? What will people say, that Dr. Chhabra’s only son runs a Dhaba(roadside eatery)?) “Tucche college toh engineering karan toh better haiga ki main apna dhaba khol levaan, Keshar da Dhaba wala kinna kamaaunda hai twaanu pata haiga? (It is better to open a coadside eatery than to do engineering from a third class college. Do you have any idea how much does the famous Kesar da Dhaba of Amritsar, Punjab earn?), pat replied Agamjeet.

It took 1.5 year of incessant bickering, cold wars, and Mrs.Chhabra’s intervention (“Sadaa ikko hi baccha hai, karan do onno jo vi karna chaahunda hai, twaanu ki lodh har chiz icc bhasudi paan di? (We have just one child, let him do whatever he wants. Must you crib about everything?)), but finally Agamjeet reached Indian Institute of Hotel Management (IHM), Mumbai. He battled it out against the likes of cutthroat pixie competitors, tough lessons and long hours to earn a coveted internship with The Taj Hotel, Dubai. Little did he know that this experience will change his life, forever and for good…

 

Featured Image : Andie Mitchell

 

Hello There!!!!

Let’s say Hi to each other, shall we?

Seeing that you are here, and mostly because I have been bothering you to read my posts either via Whatsapp or Facebook, I think it’s time to have a nice official introduction 😀 Blame it on my procrastination for this was long due, but I for one, never anticipated the possibility that there might be people other than my family and friends willing to read what I write! But everyone has to overcome their preconceived notions and face the “moment of truth”, so here I am, writing about what I know the best (I think!), i.e., myself.

Who am I? I am Sanjeet Kathuria, author of this teeny tiny blog, “Sanjeet Scribbles”.  I am a Software Engineer working in Bangalore, India who likes her job, and also likes dancing, cooking, reading, writing, yoga, binge-watching TV series, random net surfing and, sleeping!!! 😀

Why the title? Well, mainly because I had no plans of ever owning a blog but I did have a lot of pages scribbled with my thoughts. And if you know me at all, you know that I almost always have too much to say. I have always been like that, ready with a new tale or a thought or an opinion. When I was younger, in the off chance that I didn’t have anyone AT THAT MOMENT to share what was on my mind  (long before Facebook became a reality), I would scribble it down somewhere – maybe in a diary, in an old notebook or even a Word Document. And those thoughts would lie forgotten till I would discover them days later, or even months later, and smile at the memories being kicked in 🙂

Then I saw a lot of people blogging, I didn’t even know what that meant. But I liked to read what they wrote, for it helped me know them as a person. I continued to scribble every once in a while, but it was only after completing my engineering in 2011 that I, for the first time, published something online on an entity that was solely mine. After several irregular posts, I decided to migrate to WordPress and here we are, with this post, saying Hi to each other!

So why am I here? As I said, I love reading and writing, and for me, words are a powerful medium of expression. I write about everything under the sun – a new movie/play I saw, a new experience I had, thoughts off my head, and many a times, fiction too. I hope you enjoy being here and reading my thoughts, for I absolutely enjoy telling stories, and my blog is a way for me to reach to as many people as possible.

Hope you like what you read here, and you continue to come back to read more and more!!!! If you are reading this, don’t forget to say Hi in the comment section!!!! 🙂

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