Sunday, 15 May 2011

A tale of two chefs



Two li'l naughty youngsters 

                                           got down to d' lab of kitchen,

in tidy decent chef costumes,

                                             tried to play cook-cook game


One took over as head chef, 

other not permitted to assist

fresh tea brewed and served

 li'l water then tea, she did insist


That's d' protocol, do follow,

conveyed her strict instruction

no professional tea maker, yet

tea superb!, owed appreciation



For d' hilarious recipe try outs, 

kitchen the fit site, aptly chosen

rice, pulses measured and rinsed,

vegetables, a rigorous bath  given 


Assistant assigned slicing task,

 used to human tissue incision 

vegetables cut to subtle pieces,

for d' artistic job no hesitation



                        Lashings of vibrations of love,

from the cuisine maker's mind

No cooking range, no oven, yet

d' recipes were, only of its kind


Flour kneaded, dough balls made,

 roti rolled with slender fingers

no grinder to make spice paste,

squatted gently on kitchen floor





Slid  back to d' paleo-lithic age,

to manoeuvre d' grinding stone

smashed & ground ginger, garlic,

cardamom, cumin, cinnamon



Aroma diffused in entire house,

though kept ajar d' kitchen door


mouth watering recipes ready,


beyond restraint, can't ignore


To fry, cook, put salt pepper,

head chef found unduly busy 

 wisdom used, assessed, tasted, 

cooking a trickery, not so easy

 Session over, d' head chef gone,

 but telephonic queries still on

regarding excess salt in curry,

she had a lot of apprehension


Ate food, delicacy not enjoyed,

know no art to make complaint


no wish to out wit d' fellow chef,

innocent as a dumb monument



Now the lab a deserted island,

more silent than a burial deck

 no more adventures, no thrills,

no challenges, no lively stakes


Food making just a gentle plea,

had marvy time, chit chatting, 

to argue, fight, show bossism,

plainly a game so enchanting


Now d' kitchen visited less often,

if d' hunger at its Everest peak

food, no food, it's of no concern,

missing d' chef makes me sick



No more colourful, 

 it's a lustreless kitchen 

1 comments:

sona said...

We read the poem & were deeply touched by the way U have expressed your feelings.Please send it to every one in the family.

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