So You Want To Be A MasterChef : Part Deux

Some time ago, Superfoodie Achala Srivatsa had shared some mouthwatering tips for ordinary morsels mortals like you and me craving to make it big in the world of Reality TV Cooking Shows. That post had stood out on this boring blog because of its delicious wit and wholesome advice, much the same way a three-tiered cake stands out at a bland wedding. So, it was quite expected that her pointers were going to attract attention, stir the pot, so to speak. It did. The most important consequence being this companion piece, written by Achala’s and my dear friend Adam Murphy, that garnishes the original post (which can be found here) with some new ingredients just as essential for success in the chef-eat-chef world of competitive cooking.

Kindly don’t forget to thank Adam for this recipe in the Comments section below. He already says ‘You’re Welcome!’

Over to Adam. Bon Apetit! 

 

The winner of MasterChef Namibia. She described her winning recipe as a delectable melange of Champignon Bordelaise and Pea Soup.

The winner of MasterChef Namibia. She described her winning recipe as a delectable melange of Champignon Bordelaise and Pea Soup.

Inspired by Achala’s wonderful piece about MasterChef, I humbly offer up a complementary “Glossary for Success” for those who may now be contemplating lining up for the next MasterChef auditions.

These are the secret “safety words” of the culinary fraternity that can slide even the most amateur of home cooks past the judges, time and time and again. Sprinkled lightly, these words are your express pass deep into the final rounds of televised competition.

  1. “Deconstructed” (adj.): use liberally to cover up the fact that you either: a) didn’t have time; or, b) didn’t collect the right ingredients; or, c) burnt a critical component required, to put the dish together properly.
  2. “-inspired” (suffix): code word for “I didn’t care much for your actual challenge, so I made what I wanted to from the start, but included one ingredient of the thing you actually wanted me to make”. Example: “Please enjoy my key-lime-pie-inspired crab cakes.”
  3. “Riff” (noun): charming colloquial term used to pass off the thing that you thought you were asked to make, until you saw what everyone else was doing and realised that you had no idea from the start. Example: “This is my ‘riff’ on Croque Madame, replacing the ham with crocodile meat, and serving it as more of a salad than a toasted sandwich. I call it ‘Croc Madame’. Enjoy.”
  4. “Elevated” (verb, p.t.): pretentiously elaborate way to say you added something that has no place ever being in that dish. Best used when specifying the unnecessarily-exotic origin of said ingredient. Example: “I elevated my chicken risotto by shaving a few slivers of pickled Bolivian cucumber on top. Please enjoy.”
  5. “Re-fire” (verb): a far less embarrassing – and decidedly more “chefy” way to say, “I #%&@ed up and am starting over”. Example: “I’m re-firing that plain white toast right now, Chef.”
  6. “Ensalata de…” (prefix): use with straight face instead of just admitting that the best thing you could think of was another bloody boring salad. Example: “This is my Ensalata de Salmon. Enjoy.”
  7. “Classic” (adj.): use to cover up the fact that you haven’t a drop of creative talent in your body, so just made the recipe exactly as expected. See also, “traditional”.
  8. “Rustic” (adj.): sloppily put together or unprofessional looking – perhaps still served in the cooking vessel because you ran out of time for plating. See also, “down-to-earth”.
  9. “Accompanied by…” (adj.): subtle note to the judges that your actual dish is pretty gosh-darn horrible so they should focus on the thing you put beside it. Best used if the accompanying item is an alcoholic beverage of some type. The worse your main dish tastes, the boozier the cocktail should be.

With this new vocabulary and Achala’s power tips, you’re well on your way to being the next MasterChef. Culinary talent optional.

What I Miss About Old Bollywood

Bollywood has changed. These days, it’s all about big budgets, bigger weekends and the biggest stars. Gone are the times when films were either a Dacoit-Drama (also known as gaon wali film) or a Breezy Romance set in Kashmir (aka city-type film). The angriest word ever spoken on screen was “Kuttey!” and only Dharmendra was allowed to utter it. Girls went to college on bicycles, wearing sarees, with one notebook and two plaits. Flowers would tremulously kiss each other each time the Hero and the Heroine visited Vrindavan or Shalimar Gardens to sing a song. Elderly Mothers always wore white. Everyone had a Mandir at home, no matter how poor they were. When the title credits rolled, “Records” were always on HMV and the “Playback” singers list was headed by Lata Mangeshkar 100% of the time, even for the obscurest of films.

Simple times they were. I mean, even Rajinder Kumar was a hero, giving monster silver jubilee hits, so…what else to say? Anyway, my point being, those were the homey, familiar days of Bollywood that are now long gone. Sadly.

I watched an old Hindi film the other day and started to reminisce the wonderful things about Old Bollywood that are now lost forever. Here is a list of things I miss.

The Blue-print of Side-Heroine

The Blue-print of “Side-Heroine”

 

The Side-Heroine cum Cab-Ray Dancer – For decades, this was almost always Helen, but sometimes a stray Padma Khanna or Jayshree T, even the occasional A-lister like Parveen Babi, would get to play this character, too. This Lady had a soft spot for only two things in life. First, the Hero, even though he was clearly not so keen back because he only had eyes for women with very large hips (e.g. Asha Parekh, Vyjanthimala etc). Second, Blond Wigs. After all, Blond Hair was practically made for dancing along R.D.Burman’s western tunes. Wait, actually, the Lady had a fondness for a third thing, too. Alcohol. That immediately made her an immoral woman who could never be taken by the Hero to his mother for pairee penna. Which was just as well because our Side-Heroine would invariably be shot by a Pran or a Prem four reels from the end anyway. Remarkably, the bullet would always hit her in the heart. Each time. No shoulder injury, leg, kamar, arm, ghutna, nothing. Heart, it had to be. Oh, and she would die in the Hero’s arms and he would shed tears because she would say “Ho sake toh mujhe maaf kar do!” (for what?) before conking off.

The Singing Sardar – Quite often played by Parikshit Sahni, with Mahendra Kapoor (whose voice always appeared to emerge from the hollows of the gut) doing the singing honours. This character was that over-ebullient Sardarji truck driver who would automatically start crooning the moment he touched a steering wheel of any kind (could even be a taxi’s). For every up-note, he would steer left, and for every down-, right. No wonder then that our Singing Sardar would constantly, and violently, keep flinging the wheel one way or the other keeping up with the melody, even though the road ahead was always very, very straight. (Strange, then, that in real life, truck accidents are blamed on alcohol, not music).

The Blind Beggar – You remember this one? This was another singing character. Usually seen with a harmonium, but always without pupils. Of the eyes, that is. I presume that the screen test of any actor trying for this role involved him rolling his eyeballs up and under his head, and holding that posture for hours. (I just tried to do it myself and it gave me a headache in 4 seconds flat. And kindly do not attempt this in front of little children, they will pee with fright). Anyway, sometimes, the harmonium would be replaced by an 8 year old girl in a torn frock and an unwashed face. Together, the Blind Beggar and his Young Associate would walk up and down a Roadways bus, hands thrust forward asking for alms, all the while singing the exact tragic story that compelled the heroine (Mala Sinha, Reena Roy, Jayaprada etc etc) to run away from home. “Has this fellow been stalking me?” was a thought that never crossed these women’s mind, maybe because they would be quite busy sobbing softly into their pallu.

Satyen Kappu – Yes, seriously, where is he? I mean, unless he is dead or something, what is his excuse for going missing? He could play any character in any film, and he did – smuggler, drunk, mill worker, cop, brother-in-law, TB patient, driver etc etc. I am quite certain he once even played a camel in a film.

Dil ka Daura – Way before Alok Nath had even learned how to spell sanskari, there existed a Babuji called Nasir Husain. He was naturally blessed with sad eyes perennially swollen with tears. With a crisp pagdi atop his Ooncha Sar, and a Budhape ki Laathi that kept him sprightly, he was every Hindi Film Heroine’s dream daddy. Sadly, however, he was to Calamity what bees are to honey, magnet is to iron, and Poonam Pandey’s bra is to sports. A family tragedy usually meant that the lathi would topple to the floor, the pagdi at the feet of the Baraat departing in a huff from his daughter’s unrequited wedding, and a Dil ka Daura, with Babuji immediately clutching a central location in his chest, and mouthing 4 full pages of dialogues, slowly and tearfully, before breathing his last. With his incessant heart attack related fatalities, Nasir Husain had single-handedly kept the Glass Bangles Industry of India flourishing for decades.

The Tawaif – This one hurts. My favourite Rekha could have had as protracted a career as Amitji had the Tawaif roles of Bollywood not dried up. I understand, it might be odd to imagine Deepika Padukone, Sonam Kapoor or Katrina Kaif as Kothewalis, but how would we know it won’t work unless they tried? Actresses today are no risk-takers. I wish they took a leaf or two out of Abhishek Bachchan’s script. I mean, just because his Inspecter Jai of Dhoom is about as similar to his father’s umpteen Inspector Vijays as a non-AC 3-tier on Patliputra Express is to the Tokyo-Osaka Shinkansen, has it stopped the remarkable young man from trying? Over and over (and over) again?

The Climaxing Cop – After the Hero has landed the last punch on the Villain’s viciously battered face, and the ropes trussing the Heroine and Maa-ji have been untied, an open Willy’s jeep would fly into the “Smuggler’s Godown”. Off would jump one rotund man in khaki and four rotund others in blue half-pants. Maybe a bullet would be fired in the air for good measure. And then, Jagdish Raj would yell – “Hawaldaar, arrest him!” – pointing at the most grievously hurt man at the site, not once needing any tafteesh of any kind. Possibly because Jagdish-ji, may his soul rest in peace, could simply smell evil? After all, he played a cop in over 87,000 films.

The Cock-eyed Drunk – The last time one of my friends acted like Keshto Mukherjee, Bhagwan, Johnny Walker etc after swigging a few at a party was…well, never. In fact, other than hooting loudly on the dance floor to a Honey Singh song, and then puking wildly on that lovely lady’s dress, you could barely tell that the fellow was drunk! No cock-eyes, no donkey-like guffaws and no slurring on jokes – none of the typical symptoms of Bollywood drunkenness were displayed. No wonder then that this character fell by the wayside with time. Sigh. I used to really like Keshto Mukherjee, though. <sad emoticon>

Munimji – No, I don’t mean Tina Ambani. I mean the character who would keep all the hisaab-khaata for the Zamindar. Always in a dhoti and topi, carrying an umbrella, and walking two paces behind the Boss, with folded hands. His all-time favourite word was Byaaj. Also, by law, he could never be taller than 4 feet 5 inches.

Moti the Dog, Badal the Horse, etc etc – Also, Safed and regular Haathis, Monkeys, Crocodiles, Babbar-Shers, Tota-Maina, Do Hanso ka Joda, Kabootars et al, all gone! I think, despite PETA’s strong presence in India, the destruction of the Animal Kingdom of Bollywood had started the day Sridevi outstared a snake with her blue contact-lensed eyes to grab the main lead in Nagin. After that, even a valiant Tuffy didn’t stand a chance, did he?

Oh, how one wishes some of this golden stuff could find its way back to films! (Now, all I need to pray for is for Sajid Khan to read this post and remake one of my old favourites)

The Mistake – A Short Story

Image taken from Google

Image taken from Google

The viscous hold of terror had started to ease a bit. The flush was back on his face, turning it handsome again. He knew he had made the right decision in calling his father. Dad was going to come and fix everything. Like he always did.

He looked at the bed, and at her again, focusing on the ridge between her bare breasts, three inches from each nipple. He began counting, his eyes unblinking. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, night, ten.” Ten seconds and no movement! ‘Holy fuck, she’s dead!’ his brain surmised, quite alarmed. ‘But she had been breathing just a minute ago!‘ He looked up at her face. It had started to look bluish-grey on the left side. That entire side was swollen, like a party balloon waiting for a cigarette butt. The other side of the face was fine. He hadn’t hit her there. He noticed how the blood coming out of her cut upper lip was trickling towards her left ear.

Why isn’t the bitch breathing?

He dared not touch her.

He noticed the glisten near her vagina. Was that his cum? He was suddenly embarrassed. He couldn’t let Dad see that! ‘I should cover her.‘ He reached out to the side of the bed where her clothes lay. His hand caught her ripped panties first. He was disgusted by them. So old and stained! They were unlike Anamika’s lacy ones. Hers smelled so good. He tossed the stinky rag back to the ground. He picked up one of the large items of clothing. It was that pyjama-type thingy that women wore – what do they call it? Pyjama only, he guessed. He flung it over her body, covering it from tits to knees. He kicked the rest of the clothes under the bed. Out of sight.

He pulled out his iPhone again. Where the hell was Dad, he wondered. It had been ten minutes already!

The door-bell rang. ‘About time, too!’ he mumbled, and dropped the phone into his back pocket. He noticed that his fly was still undone. He pulled up the zipper and made himself respectable again.

Dad looked livid, just like he had that time when he had reversed their brand new Honda Accord into the lamp-post just outside the house. The old man had yelled at him like a crazy moron, his eyes bulging and froth coming out of his mouth. It had made him giggle. ‘It’s just a fucking car, yaar!’ he had wanted to say.

Nothing of the sort today. Today, Dad was serious-type livid. The kind that usually made him go all quiet and think-y.

Dad kept staring at the battered face. ‘He is trying to see if she is still breathing.

“Is she dead?” he asked and got a glare in return.

Dad left his room. He followed. Both entered the dining room, where Dad took a chair and started fiddling with his old BlackBerry. He was scrolling through his contact list.

“Dad?”

Dad looked up and asked ‘What is it?’ with his eyebrows.

“Can we not tell Mom?”

Like a panther, Dad leapt out of his chair and smacked him hard on his cheek. ‘THADAAAK!’ it sounded. Like the Batman comics. It was funny. But very, very painful. Within seconds, the left side of his face was starting to swell. Like a party balloon waiting for…a pin.

He figured there was no way Mom couldn’t be told. After all, she knew the girl’s mother. He guessed she would be doing whatever ‘talking’ needed to be done with that family.

He looked crestfallen. This was so embarrassing. Why hadn’t he just pestered Anamika a bit more, he wondered. She would have agreed to do it in the car eventually.

Fuck it!

He pulled out a chair and sat down. Dad had still not found the number he was looking for.

These oldies, I tell ya!’ he thought. He smiled.

Dad looked up and caught his eye. Caught the smile, too.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You are bloody fifteen, you bastard!”

THERE it is!’ he groaned internally. ‘The fucker has started with his lecture!

Dad’s eyeballs were starting to pop now. Pretty soon, there would be drool, too. He was going to try to not laugh at the poor sucker this time. He tried to shut out the old man’s voice.

“And that, too, with the maid, of all people? Let alone morals, no bloody standards either!”

He wondered if it was ok to pull out his iPhone now.

 

 

 

Shopping Misadventures or “What was I thinking?”

shopaholic1Less often than a blue moon, my compulsive globe-trotter (and now, entrepreneur, too) friend Achala Srivatsa decides to kick off her shoes, snuggle comfortably in her large First Class seat, and pull out her featherlite Apple Mac Air to write a post for me on a Singapore – Bangalore flight, thus preventing my blog from tumbling into total insignificance. And THIS is what she comes up with.  

 

 

Every now and then, I will read these articles on “How to Simplify your Life”, “The Bare Essentials”, “10 classics every woman over 20/30/40 should have” and have an epiphany. Yes, I say, if I throw out all the non-essentials in my wardrobe, I shall achieve a Zen-like sensibility, that elegant, minimalist classic Audrey Hepburn look that will make other women shrivel up with envy and men gape in awe. I shall have only classics in my wardrobe. Tomorrow is a new day, Operation Wardrobe shall start tomorrow.

This is usually a very, very bad idea because as I sift through my clothes, I am confronted by the Ghosts of Sartorial Misadventures past and present, which instantly drives me into a self-loathing spin. Some of the horrors I uncover display a level of wishful thinking, which borders on the delusional.

  • Delusions of Glamour – That Ao Dai bought in Ho Chi Minh is a prime example. After two days of Vietnam, I was seized with a need to shop. Every woman around me had on these flowing Ao Dais that were stunningly elegant and instantly this voice in my brain went “Buy this and look slender and stunning. People will gasp as you pass them… go now…” I rush into one of those charming little stores with bales of lovely silks that are designed to turn your mind into bubble gum. Yes, yes this brilliant green is so me… maybe this subtle shade of blood clot red… I remember forking over the doubloons and rushing out clutching my Ao Dai. It was only after I returned to Jakarta and I stood staring at a long flowing garment in bilious green, that I wondered what had possessed me to buy something that only a colour blind Vietnamese woman with a 14 inch waist and a 20 inch chest should be wearing.
  • The Slimness Delusion - I will also invariably find one tiny little black pencil skirt, one pair of stylish cropped pants that are 2 sizes too small both bought on an entirely unfounded conviction that I can drop 2 dress sizes over the next 2 months. In my defence, there was a time 20 years and 20 pounds ago when I used to live in these things but well, here we are. These will inevitably be reluctantly handed over to slimmer friends 4 disillusioned years later.
  • The Trend Train Wreck– Every now and then I will also find one truly bizarre item and, after racking my brains will identify it. Ah, a reminder of the scrunchy phenomenon of 1990, or the acid wash jeans of the ‘90s (horrors!)
  • The Cuteness Craze - –which happens when women in precious pale pinks and corals and baby blues surround me. Instantly my mind flashes the message “Go Pink and look adorable”. Shortly after, one putrid pink top bites the dust – or in my case cleans the dust off my bookshelves.
  • Delusions of Tradition - Half a dozen ridiculously heavy kanjeevaram silks (bought during my pious swadeshi phase) that I now almost never wear. Full Disclosure – just did this 2 months ago, but seriously how could I pass up a black and white kanjeevaram – umm that I most likely will probably never wear.
  • A corollary to this is the true Swadeshi phase of the early ‘90s when my friends and I went on a Fab India/Gurjari kick. Shapeless kurtas that blanched at the sight of water and mirror work that blinded everyone.
  • The Crisp White Pretension - Every now and then I will buy a super expensive white shirt in the fond hope that it will confer upon me a cool sophistication – a feeling that dissipates like dew in the sunlight as I stare at the 3 turmeric stains on it. Damn you Rasam!!

The Footwear Foolishness merits a whole new page:

  • My Sturdy Shoe Phase – Black and brown Batas and Scholls of hideousness unparalleled, the salesmen swore these would be the most comfortable shoes I’d ever wear. In my case, I’d ever buy and not wear.
  • My Delicate Shoe Phase - As a size 7, really what was I thinking? The things broke before I could leave the shop.
  • The Sling Back Syndrome – 4 pairs of black sling backs and 5 pairs in assorted colours including – I am not making this up – lime green.
  • The Mystery Shoe - Every now and then I will come across a pair that looks perfectly lovely and go “Oh I wonder why I’ve never worn these lovely peep toes? Let me wear them today!!” 2 hours later, I stare at my bleeding foot which the upper part of the shoe has viciously cut into, thinking – “Yup, that’s why I don’t wear them.”
  • The Bling Bungling or the Metallic Craze – Three pairs of blinding metallic slippers and sandals all blinged up and nowhere to go.

I could go on but you get the picture. I blame most of my hasty decisions partly on all those size zero sales personnel who stand outside the fitting room giggling and going “ Maybe an XXL?” In sheer mortification, I walk out with as much dignity as I can and say, “No thanks I’ll take the Medium,” and walk out wondering whom I can gift the top to.

Meanwhile, let me get on with my wardrobe cleanse. I still need to figure out what I’m going to do with all my low cut sequined tops (The Diva Delusion of AD 2000).

 

Aam Aadmi Ki Maa

Karan Arjun ki Aunty

Vijay aur Jai ki Maa. Karan Arjun ki Maasi.

Arnab’s Vigilante Justice System, popularly known as The Newshour at 9, has spared no one when it comes to doling out reprimands – Politicians dimpled and bearded, Bureaucrats, Jurists, Journalists, Czars of the Sporting World, Social Scientists, Activists, and some Overweight Unknowns with Curly Mops and Loud Voices who duet in complete symphony with Arnab’s own tunes. Lately, however, Arnab was realizing that this constant aiming at the Stars in order to shoot them down, had started to distance him from the very Aam Aadmi (and Aam Naari) he was aiming to protect. After all, no one remembered the last time they had seen a Mango Fellow on his program. So, off went Arnab’s producers, looking hither and tither for the Perfect Common (Wo)Man to be paraded on Newhour, to obtain some answers straight from the featured equus’ snout. Sadly, all they found were Men in Mufflers and inverted paper boats being passed off as Aam Aadmi Caps.

“No more Muffler Men on my program!” yelled Arnab. “Go find me someone who actually looks like a real Aam Aadmi!”

Then, one of his producers suggested they look at Bollywood. After all, Art mimics Life in India, Dhoom and Joker notwithstanding. In fact, who could be more Aam than The Quintessential Hindi Film Mother?

And who better than SuperMa Nirupa Roy herself for the interview?

 

Arnab Goswami : We debated amongst ourselves who to talk to when it came to getting Aam Aadmi’s opinions.

Nirupa Roy : Thank you for having me on the show, Arnab. I am uniquely qualified to answer your questions on behalf of the Aam Aadmi. After all, the Aam Aadmi is the Mother of All P… (pauses)

AG : What were you going to say, Maaji? Problems?

NR : (cautiouslyErrm…no, Possibilities. I was going to say Possibilities. The Aam Aadmi is the Mother of All Possibilities. And I am…well, Aam Aadmi’s Maaji.

AG : How many children do you have, Maaji?

NR : (pontificating immediately) My children have grown up to become Model, Upright Citizens of Society. In fact, most have grown up to become successful Police Inspectors…

AG : Maaji, I have just started by asking you a very simple question, and you are avoiding it already.

NR : (presses on unheedingly) …and not just any silly, old, Police Inspectors, mind you…

AG : (persisting) Maaji

NR : (and on) …I am saying, very successful Police Inspectors…

AG : Maaji

NR : …the kind who are allotted no less than Type-VIII quarters by the government…

AG : (slowly losing patience) Maaji

NR : …with a spiral staircase to the upstairs bedrooms, and a giant piano in the drawing room…

AG : Maaji, you are avoiding my…

NR : …and a Puja Room made just for me…

AG : (shaking his head, patience ready to snap any minute) MaajiMaajiMaaji…!

NR : Oh, and they get their own official vehicles too. They all have Willy’s open-roof Jeeps.

AG : (angrily) Maaji, my simple question to you, which you have avoided for the past ten minutes, is this – how many children do you have?

NR : (as if suddenly snapping back to attention) I have several, Arnab. The exact count no one knows because I have lost a few over the years.

AG : (immediately chastised) Oh, lost? That is awful, I am so sorry, Maaji! Were they very young when they passed away?

NR : (mortified) Good Heavens, no, they are not dead, Arnab!

AG : Then?

NR : Arnab, you see, I have never failed to visit the Kumbh Melas and other Vishal Bhagwati Jagarans that millions of people in the Hindi belt attend on a regular basis. You know, the kind where stampedes are as common as trains running late in India.

AG : So?

NR : (surprised) What, so? Isn’t it a given that a mother would lose a few of her children at such large gatherings? After all, what else are Kumbh Melas famous for other than misplaced kids? And Naga Sadhus?

AG : Let me tell you, Maaji, that what you are saying is not normal. People don’t just ‘lose a few of their children’ while they are laundering their sins in the Ganges!

NR : (unapologetic) Frankly, I blame the arrangements made by the State Governments of Uttar Pradesh for my losses. No matter who has been in charge of managing the Kumbh Mela, for example, I have lost kids there. Under the Congress, the BJP, BSP, SP, you name it.

AG : (angrily) You are looking for a scapegoat for your own follies, Maaji. Why can people never accept their own fault!

NR : (taking offence) That’s not true, Arnab. Sometimes I have lost children because of other reasons, too.

AG : Like what? Maaji, please don’t give cryptic answers now. Remember, the nation wants straight answers.

NR : Arnab, there were times when I was physically incapacitated to mind my brood. Like, that one time when I fell and hit my head on a stone and had amnesia.

AG : (concerned) Oh dear!

NR : Yes, it took me many years to regain my memory. I didn’t even have any partial memory left. At least Aamir Khan recalled some of his every few minutes in Ghajini. No such luck in my case. I recovered mine only when I hit the same stone at the same spot again years later. I mean, had I known…

AG : I see.

NR : And, that other time, I fell and hit my head on a stone and became blind.

AG : (exasperated) What’s with all this frequent ‘hit my head on a stone’ business, Madam? This points to some other kind of malaise within you. Why can’t you walk straight? Why should you lose your balance so often? And to such catastrophic results! Have you gone for a full medical check-up?

NR : (helplessly) How can I? I am just a poor widow. Look at my simple white cotton saree! You think I can afford health care in this country? These hospitals are so expensive! In fact, the last time I had to go to one, I needed a blood transfusion but had no money to pay for it.

AG : Then?

NR : It was the kindness of the doctor there who caught hold of three young men named Akbar, Amar and Anthony and made them donate their blood for free, thus saving my life. The kind doctor just hooked all four of us to the same intravenous line and sucked out all the blood from them that I needed. I wish all our medical facilities worked this way!

AG : Holy Maaji of God! You do realize that was unsafe medical practice, don’t you? In fact, the doctor should probably be in jail for such gross medical incompetence!

NR : (surprised) Unsafe? Why? The boys looked healthy and seemed to be from decent families – one was a cop even. The Muslim fellow looked like a tailor, and the third was a Padre, I think.

AG : (a 1:3 mix of concerned and angry) But, Maaji, it is illegal to donate blood without testing! HIV, Hepatitis A, B-12, C, D, E, K, do you really have no worries? What if you had fallen sick? Or worse, died? Who would have taken care of your children?

NR : Oh, my children, yes, though sometimes, I feel that I am losing control over them anyway.

AG : Why do you say that, Maaji?

NR : What else should one make if it? You know, one of my sons just ran away from home after I scolded him?

AG : Young boys do have a rebellious streak…

NR : This one, I think his name was Vijay or Jai, went and got a tattoo without seeking my permission. I was so livid!

AG : (offering helpfully) Maybe the tattoo parlor had a discount scheme? There is just too much competition these days.

NR : No, he got into a tiff with his dad who wouldn’t take him to the T-20 game between Delhi Daredevils and Mumbai Indians.

AG : So?

NR : So, he went to the tattoo parlor and asked the fellow to engrave “Mera Baap Bore Hai” on his arm.

AG : That sounds like a harmless little thing, Maaji.

NR : Arnab, but that was not even the half of it! The foolish tattoo fellow made a spelling mistake and tattooed “Mera Baap Chor Hai” instead.

AG : (nods his head) Ok, I do see why that might be a problem, yes.

NR : Doesn’t it? That’s why I yelled at the boy. And he ran away. Not only that, my husband left me and disappeared, too.

AG : (with a furrowed forehead) I am confused. Is your husband missing? Or dead? What about this white, cotton saree you are wearing? You can’t don the National Costume of Widowhood on just a whim, you know!

NR : (points to the saree, there is even a hole in it at the pallooOh, this? This is just to claim benefits from the government under the Rajiv Gandhi Muft ke Kapde Yojna. Frankly, I am positive that my husband is alive. See? I have full faith in my Mangalsutra (points to suhaag in a necklace). Meri woh zaroor aayenge (tears instantly)

AG : Maaji

NR : (wipes tears away) And I keep Karwa Chauth fasts also, but without telling anyone (triumphantly).

AG : (glaring angrily) Maaji, I am appalled, APPALLED at such devious trickery. YOU are the Mother of Aam Aadmi. At a time when India’s growth rate has hit catastrophic lows, Foreign Institutional Investments have dried up, job growth is an 2.2% and The Times of India print edition is surviving only because it replaced news with ads, it is people like you who are bleeding our nation dry. I say, despite such successful Police Inspector sons, you are pretending to live in penury? Why, Mrs. Roy? The nation wants to know!

NR : But I am like this only, Arnab! My sons seem think I have very high morals. In fact, just the other day, my rich son in “Import-Export” business (goes winky-wink at Arnab), got into an argument with one of my Police Inspector sons whom I live with, you know, the one who got me my own Puja Room?  The boy kept throwing his blazing success at my poorer son’s face – “I have DLF bungalows, Audi cars, servants, Husain’s artwork, Apple products, bank balance with HSBC! What do you have?” – he screamed!

AG : Well said! We all know there is more money to be made in the private sector!

NR : I know! But do you know what my Police boy said?

AG : What?

NR : He replied – “But I have Mother by my side”.

AG : (unimpressed) What shit does that mean?

NR : (excited) That’s exactly what I thought, too! I mean, what shit? So I took my Krishna and Radha idols from my Puja Room and moved into my rich son’s bungalow.

AG : Hey, wait, wasn’t your “Import-Export” son the one who died after a car accident at the Jai Santoshi Maa Mandir? The Police had arrested you for yelling at the temple idols and throwing your slippers at them like a demented person. India-TV did some exclusive breaking news coverage of that.

NR : (shakes her head) Much of what the media says is exaggerated. They will concoct anything for TRPs! It was just a simple protest, nothing more! But, yes, I was on psychotic meds, so…Thankfully, my son did leave me his estate in his well before he died.

AG : Ok, Maaji, now that we have established how strangely the Common Man of India lives these days, I wanted to know – What are your thoughts on the party that represents you?

NR : (happily) I am very glad that the Aam Aadmi Party is doing so well. I say, more power to the Common Man! They will finally bring down the Zamindaari system with the Jan Lokpal Bill! I have seen enough troubles with these Thakurs.

AG : (in a quiet, but seething voice) Maaji, this is national television so I will refrain from using harsher language than this, but you are a fool. Why the bloody hell are you talking about Thakurs? In 2014?

NR : But Arnab…

AG : In the era of computers and CNG low-floor buses, you are talking about something from the 1950s?

NR : But Arnab…

AG : It is because of people like you that progress in this country is difficult…

NR : Arnab…

AG : (relentlessly)…because you keep bringing up demons of the past! Have you not heard of all these government schemes that can save you from the Thakurs?

NR : Arnab…I…

AG : (mouth : frothing) MNREGA? Or Jawahar Jai-Jawan-Jai-Kisan Yogna? Or Indira Daridra, Dukhiya, Lachaar and still Jeevit Yojna, popularly known as DDLJ?

NR : Listen, Arnab…

AG : What do you have to say to explain yourself, Maaji?

NR : If you would only let me…

AG : (angrily) Speak? The nation wants straight answers, Maaji! For much too long, the people of the country have been taken for a ride by the likes of you.

NR : (offended) The likes of me? But I AM Aam Aadmi…or at least Aam Dharampatni and Maa.

AG : Then behave like one, Maaji!

NR : I wish I had access to all these schemes after my husband supposedly died! But the Thakur stole my farm plot in Gurgaon. And then my buffaloes also ran away. The police wouldn’t help me because I am not a VIP like some UP Minister. I had no place to go! I was on the street!

AG : But your own sons are Police Inspectors!

NR : But they are busy fighting Smugglers after Chidambaram changed gold import policies! They have no time for me now.

AG : Smugglers? You mean they work for Indian Customs Service?

NR : What’s that?

AG : (shaking his head) I am very concerned about your sanity, Maaji. I think the Aam Aadmi of the country has a serious mental condition. Ok, let’s change track. I’d like to know more about your family.

NR : (enthusiastically) Most of my sons are married and settled now.

AG : Oh, that’s good. So, there is at least something that is not completely demented in your life then.

NR : My Bahus are indeed very nice. They are reed slim, astonishingly fair and movie-star beautiful. They touch my feet every day and cook me kheer despite my diabetes.

AG : That’s nice, Mrs. Roy. In this day and age, it is hard to expect well-educated youngsters to still be so rooted to our old conservative customs.

NR : Err

AG : Did you choose working wives for your sons? Since most of them are Police Inspectors?

NR : (sheepishly) I didn’t choose the girls. The boys chose their own.

AG : (impressed) Very progressive! Have they continued working their old jobs after marriage?

NR : (horrifiedOh, heaven forbid, no! That would be disastrous!

AG : Why?

NR : Well, all my Police Inspector sons married Tawaifs and Cabaret Dancers, you see.

AG : (suddenly much contrite) Maaji. Can I say something?

NR : Yes, Arnab, it is your show.

AG : I think this will be my last Aam Aadmi interview.

NR : (surprised) Oh, why so, Arnab? Abhi toh picture baki hai, mere dost!

AG : (shakes his head) I am afraid to stay on until the end of this film.