CONFESSIONS OF A FOODIE

Yep, one of my favorite subjects to talk about. Anything related to food ….you name it and I love it. I was enjoying it when I was at home .But life does change when you are in the hostel. Imagine the worst form of torture, almost akin to the ruthless torture by the Nazis. Still don’t know what I’m talking about, well it was the food in the mess. No, don’t misunderstand me, the quality of food was OK( thousands of flies couldn’t be wrong) and moreover we had non-veg for five days a week. But you could only get three pieces of it whether it be chicken or mutton. Now that was too bitter a pill to swallow. For a person like me who loves to gorge on non-veg cuisine it was an outright violation, a transgression of human rights. And the most appalling fact was that everybody had reconciled meekly to the rule.

It was left to the hands of the last dying breed of connoisseurs to argue with the thick skinned mess workers just for one extra piece …….well piece would be an overstatement . After about 5 minutes of persistent haggling you would consider yourself lucky if you could get a few scraps of meat. But on the upside you could get as much gravy as you asked for. For the carnivores like me , atleast it was bearable but for the pious Veggies , Paneer was their sole luxury. Right from mashing it down to minuscule pieces to ones as large as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, it was a high protein diet everyday. That did cause some complaints , but when the mess workers dished out alternatives like sizzled veggies( sizzled it till it was fit for Coal India Limited.) and veg Mumtaz (the dish was as good as its name …. It was fit for the dead) nobody dared to complain again. And then there was the Monday night dinner. They don’t call it the Monday blues for nothing. It was a dinner fit for the horses. Oats and Kheer was the menu. And yes you got a sweetmeat free. I took my plate just for that sweet and left the plate on the table.

The sweets were a different story altogether . They disappeared from the plates faster than Harry Houdini. It was a jungle out there during dinner time and unless one would guard it with Z type security it would be appeasing someone’s sweet tooth.Enough of the food in the mess. I would be giving too much credit to it if I devoted more space to it. But thankfully I am alive to tell my tale for the first year. And I am told that the food in senior hostels is still worse. Well who cares about mess food when you have a plethora of goodies to eat in the Hostel Canteen.

The Hostel Canteen was the best place to spend your cash. It was the lifeline for all the South Hostellites , well stocked with all sorts of snacks , drinks and the most important of all ( the must have for all UCE seniors) Cigarettes. There was always a crowd near the snacks table and if “Mausa”(Uncle as we lovingly called him) did not keep a wary eye on all those sneaking hands , I am sure he would have discovered serious anomalies in his accounts at the end of the day. When we first entered South Hostel people were paying him for everything they consumed . Cash was flowing left, right and centre but as days passed by the cash flow dwindled and the dog eared credit book earned a place on the cash desk. Furrows started lining Mausa’s brow as his debts runned into thousands of rupees. He was doing brisk business alright , but nobody paid him cash. It really hurts when you have don’t have liquidity of your assets and moreover he had to keep the demand-supply chain intact , otherwise that would mean a loss in his business. It was a lose-lose situation for him as the days went by. But a hardcore businessman that he was , he never let his angst show and he always treated everyone with deference and friendly cheer. Only when nobody would be around would he sometimes open up about his cash strapped existence. Enough of this ramblings about the state of affairs of the canteen , lets fast forward to summer……..which is another blog…….mates