The Kitchen at the Center of the Universe

For a long time, I've had this creeping suspicion that my kitchen might be the center of the universe. Whenever I decide to do anything there, chaos abounds. I was afraid that, owing to the enormous amount of cosmic activity going on there, my making instant noodles might cause the premature extinction of the weathered-horned wadywysts in the star system of Merak. Thus, I was forever happy in the knowledge that nothing was ever cooking in my kitchen. Nothing that might shift the entropy and result in astronomers wetting their pants in excitement. So, you should be thankful for the musty smell and obese spiders and the fatter lizards.

If you were to notice the Orion nebula these days, however, you might detect an increase in its size. I am immensely sorry, Mr Hawking, but I simply had to make those chapathis!

My chapathis have taught me a lot about polygons. Initially, the biggest problem to me was the kneading. It is oddly satisfying and slightly kinky. But don't rush to make conclusions involving the dough and me. I swear we are just friends.

Once I had the dough right, it was the shape. They were predominantly rounded rectangles. Then came the octogons. I realized that I had been trying very hard to get a circle. Why? Confirmance? I decided to move into abstraction.

So, this is what unemployed writers do. Some learn the guitar, some learn French. I, on the other hand, have entered the orgasmic world of gastronomy. While on the subject, let me tell you that 'gastronomy' is an extremely unappetizing word and evokes images of oily potato crisps and butter chicken sold on the roadside on a hot, humid evening by sweaty vendors. We need a new word. Something along the lines of - Oh, I don't know... something that doesn't make you visualize a middle-aged man eating a burrito!

My invisibilty was sealed one afternoon when I was trying to make some sambhar. My sambhar flowed around with the consistency of hydrochloric acid when the phone rang.

"We are calling from ICICI Bank. Would you like to go for our premium platinum credit card with a coating of tungsten and duralumin? The credit limit is five lakhs."

All of this was said in one continuous flow and I am making it up about the coating of tungsten. That's reserved for the really privileged customers.

"Thanks. I don't mind another one of those. I am an uemployed writer and I do need a lot of money."

*CLICK*

No more sales pitch before they take that leap of faith and realize that I could turn into a bestselling author. My sambhar tasted like carpet. Blissful ignorance. And sweet invisibility.