Canteen

Last Sunday, I was reading an article authored by an innocent convict, who was acquitted after rotting circa 15 years in jail. The article was a candid memorandum of the atrocities the person had suffered. The physical abuse, mental harassment, unhygienic conditions and horrendous food; all mention in graphic details. After suffering two full years of canteen food - daily - I could indeed connect to his misery.

The article had mentioned that the rotis in the jail used to be such, that many influential inmates used it as a fuel to power their stove, on which, their sidekicks prepared chicken and mutton. 'How true', I observed, correlating with the canteen rotis we push down our throat. If offered to any stray, it will certainly bite the offerer vis-a-vis the offer. The colour of the rotis reassures that the cook is wholeheartedly against apartheid. The texture establishes, undoubtedly, that the cook is thorough masculine, depriving the poor rotis of the feminine softness. A few pedantic colleagues have made it a habit to rub two rotis to shrug off the tons of flour sticking them.

The brilliance of the culinary skills, nevertheless, is exhibited by the sabji in the menu. Irrespective of the vegetable used, the canteen sabji tastes the same. The potato is omnipresent. Salt is ever missing. Thrice a week, there is a serving off mix-veg with a notorious repetition of , Coccinia grandis, beans, carrot or bell pepper. Potatoes are the fillers, anyway. The subtle sourness of tomatoes and the twinge of lemon have become forgotten tastes of glorious past. While the quantity in the plate is substantial, it fails to satify the apetite, for the stomach - like the tongue - prefers quality.

Curry, incidentally, has variety. One day it's arhar, another day it's kadhi, chole, rajma or even moong. The cook being the same, is hence impartial. The curry lacks all essential Indian components viz. tadka, turmeric and coriander. Rajma and chole can certainly be excused. But then, the quintessential softness required in these two is mostly absent. I tried to switch to paneer - falling in for it's gravy - only to realise that my stomach hard booted.

As if this is enough, the canteen tea and coffee mock the very purpose of beverages - to refresh. The tea unmistakably bears an inkling of charcoal while the coffee tastes like sweetened milk. The pepper tea - once I was on the height of experimentation - tastes like granny's syrup and after devouring the soup, one gets bilious a la Chinese dragon.

Jai ho Canteen!

छान छान गोष्टी

Like all kids I enjoyed listening to the stories in my childhood. Grandfather being a great story teller, the joy was multiplied. He used to read a lot of books, just as he does still, so that his pesky grandson's unquenchable thirst for stories is gratified. Many times, he used to tell same stories over and again. At times, when I spotted the slack, I used to tell him with a wondrous face about already knowing the end. He used to grin sheepishly, pointing at his silver hair, blaming them for the amiss. We used to giggle and then proceed with a fresh tale.

As father got transferred, the routine broke. Mother discovered a fix. She bought a Marathi tell-a-story cassette. I was rather skeptical about the stories and the artists, for grandfather was the best story teller I had ever met! Luckily, the cassette came up to the expectations. Finding me happy, mother was encouraged to buy sequels of the cassettes. With time, as studies mandated to remain up in the night, while others snored, the younger kins took them over.

Occasionally, when I listen them now, alongside the new generation, I realise why I liked them. The stories were nice and the artists had delivered them well considering the prospect audience. Most of the stories were on the पंचतंत्र pattern, i.e., personification of the wild and summing up with a moral.

It may sound naive, but those stories did have a perceptible effect. The age, early teens, has a remarkable virtue of soaking up whatever is presented to the mind. As they say, one must always learn the good and befriend the good, so that the good prevails and one becomes a better individual, these stories, did their bit in imbibing good habits in the young audience. Apart from the story, the artists did play an quintessential role. A story read as a new item is hardly exciting. The cassette marketing company had diligently chosen renowned theatre icons. They all had a great command over the voice. Using gruff baritones for the negative characters, high pitched for the young, giving an impression of crying by exaggerated last syllables, et al. The complementary background music made the rest of the ambience. The sound of the sword taken out of the sheath, the swagger of horse, the beating of trumpet at victory and ilk. For the little child, it was wholesome entertainment.

Even after a hiatus of almost a decade those insignificant yet memorable moments can be rejoiced, for they offered pure entertainment in the return of smiling face. The cassettes certainly did justice to their names, the छान छान गोष्टी.