As usual after another long
gap, I found myself a topic motivating enough to type in.
Almost a year
ago….
During the last days I
spent in the Techno park city I and my friend Nicky made it a plan to try out
the food varieties in and around the Techno park city. Basically it was to save
ourselves from the daily hassles and puzzles of planning and executing the kitchen
arts. Both our husbands were away for work, so there were not anyone else to
share either the meals or the chores. Even though we were to join them in a
couple of months’ time, the loneliness or laziness of having to cook for oneself,
eat alone and to clean up after is what intrigued us to indulge in such a
routine.
Okiie! Now it’s not like we
had every single meal together. The meal schedules went roughly like this…we
had breakfasts on our own, from our personal hot spots on the way to work, we
shared lunch mostly catered by the homemade food caterers (one of these lunch
packets were feasts enough for both of us). Occasionally, we frequented the
food courts and restaurants in and around the park for dinner. For the record,
there were so many options. But we mainly targeted the ones in Tejeswini and
Bhavani (buildings). Even though the dent it caused on our budget was slightly higher
than that was otherwise we considered it compensated against our stress,
expense of time and the phantom limb effect caused by the temporary absence of
our nuptial partners. It felt good having meals prepared and served by someone
else for a change.
There were those days when
we had our own dinner plans mostly because of clashes in time and convenience. On such days I frequented the small restaurant
chains in the Kazakootam city where they sold every typical non veg eating Keralites’
favorite food. It’s a blind man’s guess Shawarma and the Shawai- they call it. Before
I continue the tale, let me give you a brief account on the gravity of this
statement.
As far as I know, both of
them, Shawai and Shawarma, hail from the great Arab nations. And because of the
boundless relationship between Kerala and the Gulf countries they made their
grand entrance in to Gods own country and indisputably into every Malayalee
hearts. They established their presence not only in the big cities but also in
the small towns. Every evening the small chain of restaurants along the road
side of Kazakootam city sold them like hot pancakes.
The aroma of slow cooking
meat on rotisseries crowned with a lemon’s half, wafting through the air was
intoxicating. The shop boy would scrape the meat from the outer layers of the
rotating rotisserie. He would then mince and mix the grilled meat with chopped vegetables
like cabbage, lettuce and onions. Then he would grab a Kuboos, (Kerala Kuboos
is of a softer texture and taste than that of the original Arabic Kuboos or
pita bread) pat them with a gentle amount of tahini sauce, fill it with the minced
and mixed vegetable and grilled meat or chicken, roll it around and wrap it
up…there your delicious Shawarma is ready to go.
The case of Shawai is a
similar story in terms of torture for the chicken and delight for the onlookers.
Full naked chickens coated with rich aromatic marinade are horizontally poised
on rods which keep rotating inside a high temperature grill. This one is the
actual temptress.
I tried to avoid the stalls
but somehow my senses and my feet drag me to them. It’s just like Frodo Baggins
at the hands of the Ring. I try to fight my temptation down with reasons but
their ruckus in my head just gives away to the thud of the knife slicing down
the maliciously beautiful shiny and juicy pieces of the Shawai. I pay no heed
to the cries of the pimples on my face and totally ignore the reprimands of my
belly fat. Beyond that, I forget the sole purpose of my daily 1 hour long walk.
As in a trance I order my Shawarma or Shawai. Take them home and have them all
to myself in grave silence. I ingest them in guilt, guilt of having to pay
double the price of a normal chicken for a half Shawai, guilt of having to make
frequent withdrawals form my ATM accounts and the guilt of accumulating all the
extra fat. I prayed to God to relieve me from this temptation and deliver me
from this evil. I suppose my prayers were so strong that he did not just deliver
me alone from the evil but almost all the people of Kerala.
The news broke out like an
epidemic. The grills and rotisseries disappeared. The stalls that sold them
shut down for indefinite period. Off course the fear of one’s life holds a
higher leverage over any temptations. A student died of food poisoning from
Shawarma and a celebrity family was hospitalized for the same. Widespread raids
and inspections were conducted by the food safety authority and horror stories
were brought to light. The sight of unhygienic and unethical practices of the
hoteliers curdled the blood in every vein. The news flashes displayed the raids,
shut downs and license cuts of even the popular hotels and restaurants, left
the hotel food loving Malayalees absolutely numb.
People started cooking food
for themselves, they didn’t mind the hassles and puzzles of cooking or eating
alone or cleaning up after each meal. In fact, they enjoyed the weekly visits
to the market, walking through the aisles of fresh vegetables, hearing each
vendor call out to you to buy from them. People never doubted the vendors on
the prices they charged, there were no price tags or billing machines to
validate, you just had to take the vendors word for that. People even bargained
just for the fun of it. It was an exhilarating experience which was a soothing
balm, over the hurt feeling of the trauma inflicted by the Shawarma -Shawai
tragedy. People even discussed the victorious tales of their bargain purchases
during their office chit-chats over coffee breaks with their friends who as
well adopted a similar change of life style. People started understanding the
values of freshly cooked nutritious food especially the economic and
physiological advantage of it over the pathogen culture enriched food they were
served at the hotels. In their hearts they thanked God, and heaved a sighs of
relief that they weren’t the innocent victims of the deadly Shawarma and Shawai.
On the days ahead of us the
air didn’t seems that intoxicated or tempting to me. I, for instance never
bought a Shawarma or Shawai from the stalls again. (To be contd…!)
