An Indian tale

I am not known for my cooking abilities. My philosophy in food has been to keep my palate as unsophisticated as possible, the thinking being the less sophisticated my palate was the more I would enjoy easy-to-make, cheap foods. This explains why at 28 years of age I alone amongst my peers still appreciate the delicate subtleties of microwaved fish fingers in a wrap. With this kind of mental deficiency I feel under-qualified to write anything on the food in India (sorry D) but as it is such a big part of India I did feel it only right that I take a cooking class.


The class covered all sorts of weird and wonderful things with chutneys, paneer (cheese), lassis (yoghurt drinks), naan and chiapatti breads, masalas and chai (sweet tea with spices).


Our teacher, Shanshi, was a remarkable woman with a remarkable story to tell. Her husband had been a chef in the restaurant on the rooftop of the building where they lived. During a drought a decade ago in Udaipur, when there were no tourists because there was no lake, her husband decided to go to another town for a 10 day festival where he and his best friend made what money they could by cooking for the revellers. By the end of the festival they had made 60,000 rupees (ish 1200 euro, not a guarantee).


On the last evening when they had counted their money the pair sat down to a meal themselves, rightly pleased with their efforts. But the best friend had ill intent. He put sleeping tablets into the husband's food that left him weary, and when Shanshi's husband talked to her on the phone she insisted he stay the night for fear of an accident befalling him on his drive home. And so it was that while the unsuspecting husband lay passed out, the best friend got two men to hold him down and they strangled him with a rope. Morning came and the best friend rang the police in horror, his friend had not come down for chai in the morning and seemed to have succumbed to a heart attack.

An autopsy was carried out and the real cause of death was determined and the friend was thrown in jail. But he remained in jail for just one year and was then released, baksheesh shrugs Shanshi, bribes.


Shanshi is of the Brahmin caste. As a member of this caste she had to remain indoors for a year of mourning. Her boys, aged 9 and 11, were forced to find what work they could for the family to survive. Brahmins, being the top of the caste hierarchy traditionally and the most esteemed and proudest of the castes, do not tend to look favourably on those in poverty, even their own. When her year of mourning was over Shanshi was forced to work long days for pittance, doing the laundry of the local guesthouses to feed her children. This further ostracised her from those around her. She fell ill regularly and suffered blackouts.

Along comes an Irish tourist who befriends her son. She makes them snacks while they're hanging out. The Irish man declares these snacks delicious and says she should start cookery classes. So she did. And now, relatively speaking, she's minted. She can now afford to send her sons to college. She will no doubt feature in the next Lonely Planet and then she will be even richer.

Moral of the story? The Irish are great and she should have given me the cookery class for free. Miser.