When I became Jane Austen

Do we have the time to do the things that we want to do? Pursue a hobby of our interest,let the creative juices flow, do a sudoku......the list of stress busters is endless. We are always being told of the things that we ought to do to keep us going, to keep our mental clock ticking in order to lead a happier and healthier life.

For each of us, the mode of relaxation is different. Jamshedji Tata,  the iconic businessman flew planes; that was his passion which helped him to relax but for ordinary home-makers like  you and me, it could be sketching, painting, stitching or even writing. Writing, they say expands the mental horizons, the emotional make-up of a person and above all gives one an intellectual high. But any hobby can be stimulating only if it is nurtured and sustained, for which a high level of commitment is necessary. One has to take time out of the daily grind to sustain a hobby. Herein lies the problem.The whirlpool of endless household chores can suck many a budding talent in a homemaker into its relentless currents. In India especially, the social demands on a woman within and without the family set-up are quite taxing-it’s a tight-rope walk between home-maker and careerist. How many times have I heard the familiar wail, “I  used to play the veena quite well. But after marriage and children, it all went up in smoke”.

Many  have however, managed to  successfully span the wide chasm between the daily grind and hobby; between  what needs to be done to keep the wheel of life’s routine rotating and what we would like to do for emotional gratification. Here again the family’s concurrence(read as co-operation from husband) is absolutely essential.

I have been fortunate in that my husband has been supportive of my interest in writing. “You should write more and consistently” is his refrain, to which my perennial lament is “I wish I had the time and energy to do that”. To which, he looked at me pityingly and said, “Nobody gets time, you have to make time”.  After initially bristling at his remark, I started thinking seriously about what he had said.  Maybe there was something to what he had said. All the scary health columns that I had been reading like,  “Do something creative in order to stimulate brain activity.Research findings have proved that brain exercises like doing sudoku,learning a new activity, writing or even reading poetry etc. will ward off  early onset of senility, Alzheimers’........... you get the drift, I suppose.

So how was I going to save my “grey cells”  at least in the interests of my own health? “ You spend too much time in the kitchen, it drains you. You should get a cook ”, declared a friend. “Easier said than done,”I thought. Could I relinquish with a single stroke, “ my time- honoured, careful and considerate duties in the kitchen to the hands of an outsider”. I was torn between familial bonds and my own creative needs. Then one day, a friend who runs a paper called up to ask why I had not written a piece for her for so long, accusing me of burying my interest and not writing enough. Find the time to write”, she urged. The demons of senility and Alzeihmer floated before my inward eye  and I realized that something had to be done about this and that too rather urgently.

I managed to find a  kitchen help with great difficulty. I would not call her by the lofty title  of “cook", because she was sent with references of “an amicable assistant always willing to  learn”. Not a great resource  but I hoped to train her to take over my kitchen so that I could focus on more “ fulfilling ” activities.  After  instructing her about the day’s menu, I  made  an effort to collect together my creative thoughts. “ Now for some crisp writing ”, I would think and just as I  manage to collect together my thoughts,  Mrs. AA (Amicable Assistant, if you please) put her head round the door and asked, “ Amma, you did not say whether I should use dal or coconut in the Sambhar!” I would sort out the issue to return to my literary pursuits only to be interrupted by another silly query from Mrs. AA, “ Amma,  should I use pepper or chillies in the rasam”.  

Then one day, my husband complained that the Sambhar tasted funny.” “ Oh no”, he hastened to add.” Don’t start interfering in her work, for heaven’s sake. Anyway, you take too long in the kitchen over a sambhar and rice.We got to use her, after getting her with so much difficulty.In finance, we call it captilization of an asset”. With that, he valiantly swallowed the watery sambhar and leathery chappathis. 

So that was that. Mrs. AA’s ill-health continued indefinitely. I soon realized that she had no intention of coming back. Nor did I have any regrets. My literary visions had  curled up like a wisp of smoke to vanish into thin air, much like Mrs.AA. In the process, I had landed on Terra firma, with a BIG BANG. My literary dreams could wait for the time being but the family could not. I belonged to a generation that had dreams and the courage to pursue them but what about all the women before me who,

 only knew to slog and slave,

grind and grate ,roast and bast over a hot kitchen fire,

wiping away beads of perspiration in a sweltering, airless kitchen, hot and humid to churn out mouthwatering delicacies

all devoured in no time.

The kitchen was their home, 

the family their world; they knew none else.

their love boundless, their service endless.

The fragrance of  burnt incense 

hung over the family unit,

cosy and content, happy and healthy.

Hail O woman of Yester Year 

Whose dreams were not bigger than family and society.