....and thats how you do it!!!

My cooking has improved quite a bit but I never make non-vegetarian, at least not the whole meal. Everyone at home knows this of course and the reason is that I feel like vomiting when I see the washing of meat at the initial stage. All the blood and smell is quite revolting. So one day what happened, ma had gone to visit her sister and I and papa were at home. All of a sudden papa came to me and said, ‘your mother will be late and tired when she returns so why not we prepare dinner today?! Without much enthusiasm, I said, ‘yah, sure’ and that is when I noticed an evil smile cross my father’s face. Suspiciously I looked at him and he said innocently, I bought chicken today morning, that’s for dinner and saying this he walked off not seeing the pained expression on my face. Clutching frantically at the last ray of hope I weakly laughed and said, ‘ so that means you will make chicken and I will make the chapattis?! He turned around and without the least bit of mercy said, ‘ no, that means that you will prepare everything tonight and I will supervise’. ‘Fine’, I said, with arms crossed across my chest and sounding angry and stubborn, ‘but I won’t wash the chicken and that’s it’. Now I shouldn’t have said that. When my younger sister pulls tantrums no one gets serious but I usually never refute my father and he can’t stand disobedience from either of us. So now unexpectedly my father suddenly became serious, ‘how dare you speak like that? Under this roof I am the only one who gives orders. Get out of the kitchen, there is no need for you to do anything’. Okay, now that was too much, and all because of a stupid dead chicken! Saying this he marched to the front door to lock it. So I had three minutes before he returned, in which to take out the chicken and start washing it otherwise he wouldn’t let me do it and if I didn’t do it I knew he wouldn’t talk to me for a week. summoning up all my bravery, courage and calm I took a deep breath, rolled up my unkempt open hair into which i inserted the long thin steel rod with which ma makes paapad to hold it up (if my mother would have seen it she would have literally killed me). I rushed to the fridge and pulled out the dead body, brought it into the basin and opened the tap. The blood began seeping out of the plastic and the smell…oh god!!! And then I heard the nearing steps of my father and a stern voice, ‘I think I told you to get out of the kitchen….' i didn’t have time to think. I thought of god, emptied the plastic into the container, threw the plastic, closed my eyes and pushed my hands into the gooey stuff….a cold shudder ran through me and I could feel the bile rise in my throat. I opened my eyes and looked at my father who had just entered the kitchen. His angry face was softened by a wise sage like smile now, ‘ see that’s all and you made such a big fuss…’ (did I mention that he has bagged the best actor award in most of his school and college plays?!). my hands were shivering throughout the procedure out of sheer disgust….yuck.
The curry turned out to be quite good. Later when papa told mamma that I had made the curry, she exclaimed, ‘that’s nice’ and then went ahead with her work but then papa added ‘she also washed the chicken’. This time my mother actually looked happy and and with shinning eyes, cried out ‘really, that’s a miracle’ she looked so proud (as if I had cleared the IAS). And so I prepared chicken …oh well who cares….and so I washed chicken…now that’s heroic!!