AN UNUSUAL WAGER - A NEW YEAR GIFT

Human history is replete with competitions. Man first competed with the beasts and slowly evolved to compete with other men and himself. Competitions have always evoked an element of interest in the people around. Imagine the Indo Pak cricket match, the frenzy that it arouses in the spectators is much more than the rivalry on the field. Imagine a competition in the household. A wager between a mother and a son may not be one that is seen or heard of much.

It was in the mid eighties when I was still a college student that this event occurred. The batter for the dosas would be made and fresh ones rolled out of the tavas on to the plate. The count would never be kept and the steaming hot dosas would vanish from the plates and melt in the mouths within a trice. I cannot remember whether it was the hunger, the youth or the taste that mattered but at the end it would be with a rather disappointing grunt we would rise from our place to announce that our quota of the tiffin for the day was over.

On one of these occasions, someone remarked as to how a person could live on dosas and idlis leading to a discussion on various recipes available. The discussion traversed through the entire South Indian milieu and finally the arguments rose to such a feverish pitch when my mother remarked that if one were to prepare the tiffins without repeating ( a la the much touted dressing habits of women) then there were enough recipes to hold for two or three years. At this juncture the brash youth in me rose to challenge that forget for two or three years, one could not but with hold oneself from repeating the same dish within the course of the year. Well all this was based on the firm belef that idlis and dosas would have to be repeated anyway.

The atmosphere of general discussion gave way to a vertical split in the living room. Lo and behold!!! I was the solitary reaper on one side and all the others were with my mother. A challenge was laid in the form of a gauntlet for me to pick or concede defeat. Well both were a lose lose situation. For a fussy eater, accepting the challenge meant eating all dishes that are prepared in the course of the year without a demur and sticking to the palate meant instant roar of disapproval. Chants for the challenge to be accepted grew louder with little choice left to this soul. So the wager came to be made. There was no element of vanavasa or agnathavase nor was the dice rolled but the odds were loaded heavily in my mother's favour considering the fact she had helped her uncle publish a book of recipes in the fifties or sixties.

The die was cast and I picked the gauntlet ( Admittedly not out of valour but out of sheer peer pressure ). The New Year was rung in with the Doordarshan's New year festivities and suggestions were pouring from all sides for my mother to make different dishes.

Sheepishly, I asked her what would happen to the idlis and dosas out of fear that in all the different recipes these may be simply left out for a whole year. Even my father seemed to think that this was a good way to educate me into the merits of eating with out a demur. So began the wager.

My mother assured me that there would be different varieties of dosa which kept my spirits high. Dishes started rolling out as days passed. In those days of little connectivity, the letters would contain besides the well wishes for well being a ip for my mother or a couple of recipes or a reminder. Letters from this end would contain an update on the status of the wager, the dishes in the interim period apart from updates on our activities. Indeed that whole year we happened to be the cynosure of the extended family.

In a diary which was used to record important events and the financial transactions, a pride of place was given to the recipe of the day. Days passed, months passed and slowly the year too passed. Not a single dish had been repeated. In fact, recipes were ready to hold fort for another 3 to 4 months. Doordarshan's New Year's Eve programmes were on the air. The question was whether it should be extended into the coming year too. Flashback into the year told me that I had lavishly eaten. The most despised tiffin of those days and may be even today is the khara bath or uppittu which in itself could be accounted for close to a fortnight or more. For nothing do they say once bitten twice shy. I instantly told that the wager was won hands down by my mother, conceded defeat and requested for the old times sake to be restored. The unsaid portion of the bargain is I spend the New Year's Eve and New Year at home which is a joy for my mother. A small concession for my friends would be to join them for an hour or two or merely greet over the phone.

Reminiscing those days, I could say that it was probably the best education that my parents imparted to me. Today, I would never underestimate another's capabilities or competence. I relish the camaraderie of the family and friends for the whole year through. Such an year would never repeat itaelf for me but why should not some more moms take a laaf out of this experience to wean their children out of the pizza and pasta parlours instead of hollering around or grievously complaining on their habits.

Ruminate over this and spend a wonderful 2010 which would come with innovative ideas for addressing the challenges.