I have a big bone to contend
With beaming television chefs who breezily pretend
That they find joy and bliss in cooking,
I would like to snoop on them as they actually worked in a real kitchen and did not know someone was looking.
And see if chopping onions really leaves their makeup intact
The effect of a green chilly tadka on their respiratory tracts.
I would love to see them multitask
Without studio lights in which they play make-believe and bask.
When the cooker whistles,oven beeps and the milk threatens to froth;
Don’t they scald their fingers in panic and forget to add salt to the broth?
What makes them so ecstatic as they move from grinding chutney to chopping salad
They never falter,nor lose their smiles,as if in a well-choreographed ballad.
Whereas when I chop and grind
Dull monotony overtakes my mind.
And pardon my inquisitiveness
But I would like to see if they really clean up the post-cooking mess?
For in my kitchen every dish is followed by dishes
Floating in the sink like so many shiny, slimy fishes.
The missing spices,the wobbly pan
The cutter that gets lost just when I decide to roll out flan.
All this I suspect they omit to mention.
For real life cooking is fraught with tension.
