Of cooking and self-worth

Store-bought salad for days when I don’t feel like cooking

I wish I did not have to cook every single day.

Don’t get me wrong. I love cooking. I think it’s both creative and scientific at the same time, and I absolutely enjoy the process of creating new flavours from scratch. I’m pretty good at it too, if I may say so myself. Also, I guess it’s a survival skill that every human being must learn. M does, and we both play the roles of chef and sous chef interchangeably in the kitchen. So this is not about patriarchy or domestication of women. No, I’m not even taking that direction with this. At least, not in my case.

Also, this is not about balancing career and household and hence, not having the time to cook. Nope. Not having the time to do something is the lamest excuse one can come up with. If you have the inclination, you will find the time and the means to do it.

Yet, cooking three meals a day every single day is a pain in the ass. Added to that is the agony of chopping, cooking, cleaning and washing after every single meal. Which is why I stock my kitchen with partly cooked store-bought food that doesn’t require effort – ready-to-eat idiyappams that you simply soak in boiled water for 2 minutes (such a revelation), coconut milk, Knorr soup packets, dosa batter, frozen rotis, ready-to-bake lasagne sheets, Dr Oetker cake and dessert mixes and lots of instant noodles. For lazy days when the very sight of the kitchen makes you sick.

Another thing that I sometimes do is make plenty of food when I’m in a mood to cook, store it in the fridge so we can easily manage with it for 2-3 days. There’s nothing like coming back home after a long tiring day and finding an insane variety of home-cooked food in the refrigerator.

There’s another aspect to this. M is the most non-fussy person in the world, so he is not the type who would demand packed lunches and piping hot dinner, and he’s more than happy to cook or order in from a restaurant. But being the Type A person that I am, I HAVE to do it even if I’m pressed for time or even if I do not feel like it. I have to be superwoman. I have to be this person who works, cooks, cleans, parties, and does every damn thing on her own. It’s pissing off. I want to take it easy. I really do. But if I do, I feel useless. So I push myself even more.

It’s for the same reason that I cannot call a day ‘productive’ if I just spend it reading a book or catching a movie. No way. To me ‘productivity’ is linked to how much actual work I have done – the rest are just rewards that I ‘earn’ for finishing my real work. It’s not the best way to look at it, I know. Because it is pissing off. I wish I were a cool, self-assured person. I wish I did not have to tie my self-worth to petty things like chores and work. Or feel guilty for no reason.

I envy people who can simply say: No, I did not do this today because I did not feel like, in a completely non-apologetic tone. I envy people who treat themselves with so much love, reward themselves all the time and do not let their work or skills define them. Why can’t I lounge all day without a care in the world, put up a ‘I’m on holiday’ plaque, close the kitchen, shut down my laptop and mobile phone, read a frikking book or listen to music, and feel like a million bucks? And feel like I deserve that treatment. Without a pang of guilt. Why can’t I do it for my own self and feel like it was the most productive day of my entire life?

Having it all. Or not.

Okay, I have to admit it. It’s hard to take up work that involves travelling once you are married. Especially if you are a woman.

I’ve only just started freelancing and I have turned down at least 3 travel assignments in one month – and no, it’s not because of M, but I think somewhere deep inside, I felt a tinge of guilt about not being able to take him along. Though the real reason why I turned them down was because I had made other plans on those days already.

Yet, it bothers me sometimes that I cannot just pack my bags and disappear for a week because it’s work. The reason, I guess, is also because M has never done that. He’s never gone on a holiday without me, after we got married; although I have taken off to Goa with my bunch of girlfriends, and gone to my hometown alone to spend time with my family. Also, I hate going back to an empty house – I’d  be okay with it for a couple of days maybe, but I like having M around at home.

M is crazy about travelling and the two of us have had such amazing moments backpacking and planning our holidays together. He doesn’t say it, but I know that he wants to come with me. And I don’t like the idea of asking the magazine or the organisers to allow me to travel with a plus-one. I mean, I would be coming across as weak and dependent, although, in reality, I’m anything but that.

I quite enjoy travelling solo because it gives me the opportunity to meet new people and make new friends. Plus I don’t want to turn down work and forgo a chance to write for a magazine and get paid. So I find myself torn between quenching my wanderlust (and building a career I always dreamed of, in the process) and letting it go once in a while to balance it out and be a ‘good wife’ who ‘takes care of her husband and the household’.

Also, it’s funny how every single ‘successful’ journalist or travel writer I have met of late – and I’m talking only about women here – is NOT married. They are single women well into their thirties and forties who don’t have to think twice about flying on short notice, unless they have personal commitments. It kind of reinforces the fact that women cannot, perhaps, have it all, the way men can. I don’t know if I’m fighting a losing battle, but I want to have it all.

It may seem like I’m over-analysing or over-reacting, but trust me, I’m not losing sleep over this or being all passive aggressive with M about this. It’s just a bunch of observations that I’m laying at the table because I know that at the end of the day, M and I don’t really intrude into each other’s professional lives. I just have to work on getting rid of this nagging sense of guilt that grips me every time I make a decision. Maybe then, I will come close to having it all.