The clash…

I have never been a big fan of cricket, but with seemingly everyone in India and Pakistan eating and sleeping cricket over the impending clash at Mohali on March 30, I surprised myself by wearing my India-inscribed T-shirt to a friendly India-Pakistan match at an Islamabad stadium on Sunday.

I enjoyed the looks that came my way for flaunting my Indian credentials – first, of course, by the esteemed Bhai brigade – and then the TV camera crews, who far outnumbered the cheerleaders. On another occasion, I would have attributed their full attendance to the sumptuous lunch that was to follow the match; but in this case the tempestuous assignment at hand was certainly equally mouth-watering.

When the Indian High Commission arranged the friendly cricket match with the Lahore Chamber of Commerce and Industry, it had no idea it would become the cynosure of all eyes because of the build-up for the India-Pakistan semi-final in the World Cup.

Suddenly it was all important to win.

While the Indian team waited and waited (and waited) for the Pakistani team’s arrival, some of India’s finest and yet not-so-young officers practised on the ground under the majestic Margalla hills.

Two hours later, the Pakistani side had an easy win with its youngish and very much-in shape team (apparently comprising professional players roped in by the Chamber of Commerce and Industry). Cameras rolled in and there was a lot of sloganeering for the sake of the burping TV crews who had seen the Pakistani team win between hurried bites of kebabs and biryani. All Pakistanis on the ground were in celebration mode and did their best to rub in their win.

I recently read a compilation of comments by a Pakistani blogger on how Indians were conspiring to win: a) Indians are good at black magic; just see how their Pundits put an amulet under the Mohali pitch; b) The Mohali pitch has been developed to assist the Indian players; c) Pakistanis will lose the match because they know Indian crowd will beat the hell out of our players if they win the game; d) RAW conspiring to use Indian bookies to bring down Pakistani team.

And they say the game of cricket is a winner! 

Ode to a pressure cooker

When my wife and I moved to Pakistan over three years ago, we decided to do so with the bare essentials in order to travel light. Within weeks, we were up against the challenge of stocking up our new kitchen, not only to take care of the routine cooking but also to host get-togethers for new friends and acquaintances.

           

So my wife did the rounds of shops in Aabpara and Blue Area, buying dinner sets, cups and saucers and serving and cooking dishes. Yasmin, our first maid in Pakistan, took care of the cooking and I rarely ventured into the kitchen as work in those tumultuous days of late 2007 and early 2008 kept me busy round the clock.

           

When I did decide to make a comeback to cooking, something I enjoy a lot, I found I was hamstrung – our new kitchen was missing a pressure cooker, an essential item in almost all Indian homes.

           

No problem, said our domestic help, you can buy a pressure cooker in the local markets. So off went my wife to the ‘bartan’ stores in the bustling Aabpara market near the Lal Masjid and returned with a pressure cooker.

The three-eyed monster

For those of you who have never used a Pakistani pressure cooker, here’s a description: It’s larger than its Indian counterpart, has a whistle that never blows and in most instances, it’s totally rubbish. Sorry, but there’s no other way to describe it.

           

The dal prepared in the cooker emerged as a lumpy, jelly-like mass that tasted gruesome. Vegetables cooked in it looked and tasted no better.

           

Within weeks of the arrival of the cooker – which resembled an ominous three-eyed monster – I was interrupted while filing a report by a loud bang that seemed to come from the direction of the kitchen. My wife and I walked into the kitchen to find Yasmin cowering in a corner, the contents of the cooker spattered all over the walls and the ceiling.

           

That initial “blast” was followed in rapid succession by two more. Such a desperate situation called for desperate measures. I decided I would have to ask someone visiting India to get me a pressure cooker. An opportunity presented itself soon enough when an acquaintance – a lady of Indian origin married to a Pakistani – sought my help to get a visa to visit her folks in Mumbai.

           

This was well before the Mumbai attacks and the visa was issued to the lady after I made calls to a few diplomats. The lady got in touch to thank me and asked if she could get me anything back from India.

           

Our trusted Hawkins

“Yes, you can – a pressure cooker,” I replied. She gamely agreed and a colleague in Mumbai bought and passed on a Hawkins pressure cooker to her, which she carried back to Islamabad. And that was a very happy ending to our misadventures in cooking.