Tag Archives: Domesticated

Domesticated 2 : Receipe for Satisfaction

13 Aug

So you travel half-way across town to buy a cooking stove, haggle with the seller, purchase it, then go shopping for a suitable utensil and finally, something to cook.

You come back to the room, find a place for everything, plug in the stove, read the instructions on the packet of soup, empty out a very precisely measured quantity of water and put it to boil.

The water is taking too long, so you pull out the kettle, bring the water to simmering hot and empty it into the saucepan.

You then empty out exactly the right quantity of soup-mix into the boiling water, and stir continuously. And then you stir. And you stir. And you stir a little more.

You find a book to cover it up with and leave it standing for about 20 minutes. Satisfied with what seems to be the result, you wash your bowl (that was last used for having milk and cereal) and empty out a serving of soup.

You taste the soup. It’s not so bad. So you drink and drink, till your tongue is burnt and your stomach is full, and you’ve just about reached the bottom of the bowl, where magnificiently-sized lumps await your arrival. You confuse them for chicken, but soon enough realise so.

So you add them back to more hot water (boiled in the kettle), set it up on the stove, stir and stirt, leave to simmer. Empty it into your bowl.

The lumps are still there.

Repeat process.

Lumps still there.

Still again.


You take the saucepan into the bathroom and flush all its contents. Then you grab your umberella and wallet, and step out for a heartening meal. (Except that I’m not stepping out because it’s raining and I’m tired, and will settle, instead, for a piece of fruit.)

Good things in life don’t come cheap. But they sure do come easy!


13 Aug

Really, it’s tiring, but most of my free time in the past few days has gone towards washing and re-washing clothes.

First, there comes the high-quality fabric that I wouldn’t want a run-of-the-mill dhobi putting his hands onto with arbitrary detergents, wrinigng them, molesting them, adorning them… Why not wringing them, you ask? It is apparently not advisable to wring this lot of fabric. Thus, they must drip-dry. After being washed in a particular kind of liquid detergent. Frustrating, you say? I whole-heartedly agree.

So I did 7 of them last evening, which took roughly half an hour. Afterwards, for the next 2 hours, I was constantly wiping puddles out of the room, as the clothes dripped and dripped and dripped. Housewives in water-deprived parts of the country would have been cursing me if they knew.

Then, there are the gymming outfits. These I cannot give to the laundry guy, because I only have 3 outfits in all, and as I use them as close to everyday as I can, it wouldn’t be nice if the laundry guy’s kids were wearing them for a whole week (which is as long as he takes to return anything).

And then, there are the already wet ones, which occupy most of the washing line we’ve tied inside the room. It is bloody raining all day over here! Each time you step out, you come back with 2 things to hang to dry. What is a person supposed to do? Hang them outside the hostel? Where it’s raining all the time? Of course not, convert your room into a launderette. Minus the washing machines and driers.

Today, I’m hoping to go and pick up an electric stove, so that I can make meself some soup now and then. In other words, more domestication. If I’m upto it, I might even give Pasta a try (No, not the ready-made ones, thanks very much)… only to never attempt it again. Any (hot) takers out there for the average domestic homo?

Now if you’d excuse me, I believe I have to get the kids ready for school. Ciao!