It happened yet again. A billion and more eyes were glued to the TV set to witness the 100th century of Sachin Tendulkar but he missed the mark by a mere six runs and an entire nation sighed in disbelief. Even by missing the century he stole the Slap-gate thunder from Mr.Pawar. There seemed to be a slight competition between the two as to which event would collect the maximum status updates. In the end, we all know who won. The peoples’ God beats self proclaimed God anytime right and the news guys shifted to Big Boss. Idiots. Fortunately, not everything on the idiot box turns out to be idiotic.

The finale of Masterchef Australia aired on Indian Television this Monday. Only two days have passed since then and I miss it already. Probably just Hayden and Ellie but yeah it was a very interesting show unlike the Indian rip-off. Seriously,basmati sushi?! But overall the challenges were appealing and the techniques refined. The high light of the show was the UN challenge, where the participants had to do canopies for a reception in the UN. Don’t even get me started on the Nigella Lawson challenge episode. But like all other good things (read: Kate’s immunity challenge dessert.Yum!!!)The show had to end. Sigh.

I accept the fact that I never moved my lazy bum to try out any of the preparations and most of the ingredients used are not found in the local Indian market. In fact, the techniques and equipment used in the show are probably all used in some restaurant somewhere and not in our kitchens. So what made the show tick? The part which intrigued the ordinary viewer, who oohed and aahed at the 69 degree egg, was that all the participants were bloody amateurs. And we all love to witness genius surpass talent aye! They all had left back their lustrous careers and dived into uncertainty to pursue their passions. This is all fairy tale stuff, what we like to read and witness but we rarely gather the guts to just jump off the cliff .To chase our dreams and fulfil our passions. To know our true calling is a privilege very few of us have and to let go of it before even trying is utter foolishness. Stand on a wintery morning at the edge of the swimming pool and if you dip your toe to check the temperature of the water you can never really take the plunge. I sincerely hope we all do find that one thing that truly ignites the fire in our hearts and we have the courage to go after it.

On a lighter note, a big thanks to Chamak Challo and Vidya ‘Silky’ Balan for getting the curves and the red lipstick back. We can all now look forward to something other than the skimpy bikinis. Ooh lala ooh lala...Ooh lala lala...tu he meri fantasy..

The greatest,most confounding question a man can ever face is "Who is a better cook,your mother or your wife?".The answer is always the mother,or atleast in advertisements it is.Else how would they sell ready-to-eat yummy food that would make him forget the maa ke haath ka khaana.So when a recent wheat flour advertisement has the hubby say that his wife cooks really well(and mind you the mother doesn't make a face.quite refreshing) it instantly catches my eye.The diligent bahu modestly claims that the freshly milled wheat flour is the secret and I can't help but shake my head.

The reason is simple.The flat indian bread is the trickiest bit to master.No matter if you use the best flour,the food processor to turn it into soft dough in the end it all comes down to your relationship with the rolling pin.The rolling pin apparently has a mind of its own and the first time you try to get a hold of things disasters are not far away.Part of this tragic feeling of hopelessness and having your face covered in flour comes from my own personal experience.

The roti,according to me is the single most beautiful creation on a daily Indian food plate.The aroma of the hot dough as the roti lands on the frying pan ,its beautiful roundness as it fills up with air on the burner and the softness when it lands laden with home made ghee on your plate,all these make the roti the most essential element on the plate.The art of rolling out round soft rotis is the sign of a good cook.More than anything grandmothers persistently try to get their granddaughters to befriend the rolling pin.Even as we try to reach the moon,I suppose all grannies know that a woman should essentially know how to cook good food.The men wouldn't disagree,neither would I.

The great admirer that I 'm of the humble roti,the fine art of making one has so far eluded me.It started off really rough,the first few tasted like papad even.In roti making unfortunately there is nothing as beginner's luck.After some tiring attempts the shape gradually progressed from the African continent to a Washington apple,the softness getting better every time.The eternal believer that I'm my quest for perfection began,it was about conquering the world one shape at a time.The efforts paid off.Finally the day arrived,the light shone off my flour smeared face and the rolling pin seemed like an extension of my hand.Not only was the shape a desired round,the softness and the smell made me slightly dizzy with happiness.It was pure joy,the feeling of being able to achieve the perfect lightness of your dream roti.Absurd yes,but priceless nonetheless.After the first victory, I have tasted success after regular intervals.The probability of which I cannot gauge since I apparently suck at mathematics.But take it from me,the feeling of knowing you can create something that beautiful from only flour ,water and oil is one of the the most fulfilling things to experience.

As for my grandmother,she insists that a beautiful roti is a testimony of a loving husband.Well,I guess that remains to see.