Since Shiza baji has officially joined the kitchen, something weird is happening every day. Her first day as a trainee cook ended in a mess, while her second day in the kitchen was not different either.

But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, especially when you are clumsy enough to foul up everything you do, from wiping wet plates with an already dirty rag to washing okras after cutting them into pieces.

While Shiza baji has been trying her level best to hone her kitchen skills in her spare time, she cannot be compared with Mama, the uncrowned master chef of the house.

Despite her desperate attempts, Shiza baji’s culinary abilities are yet to be developed through regular practice and hard work. Mama realises the fact that it always takes time to learn the kitchen basics. The same views are held by bhai jan and bhabhi, while Papa goes the extra miles to encourage Shiza baji, the apple of his eye, despite her proven clumsiness in doing even easy tasks that any other person can do single-handedly.

This is what Guddu honestly believes. For him, it should not take more than a day to become an expert cook, because cooking is not rocket science and anyone can do it without any trouble. In fact, the entire cooking process is as easy as ABC.

For instance, when you are going to cook fish, according to Guddu, you are not supposed to wash it before cooking, because why waste water on washing something that already comes from water.

As per Guddu, it is not such a big deal to prepare any dish, contrary to everyday excuses made by Shiza baji whenever she fails to cook any meal well, and that too despite referring to several recipe books and YouTube videos available at the touch of her smartphone’s screen. She even messes up the omelette and reduces it into a scrambled egg, which looks more like a pile of hay kneaded with a sticky liquid.

Her pizza often ends up becoming a bulky charred toast, her sweet dishes taste more like sugar-filled baby cereal and her baking prowess is often reflected in the shape of tasteless doughy lumps scattered all over the tray.

To top it all off, baji touches the height of culinary art as soon she grabs a rolling pin in her hands to make a roti, which in the end comes out to be neither round nor square, but like the map of Uganda, or bears a resemblance to the hypothetical demarcation of the Bermuda Triangle. Other than being a toasted depiction of the world’s geography, baji’s artistically designed, state-of-the-art roti is mostly burnt from the edges, or a large black spot in its centre depicts the trademark of ‘Shiza’s Kitchen’, known for its weird formulations and absurd cuisines.

In short, each roti made by Shiza baji is challenging enough to defy the artistic skills of Pablo Picasso, as well as daring enough to belittle the greatness of Sadequain’s artwork.

Much to Guddu’s surprise, everybody at home is too happy with her progress and believes she is learning cooking very fast, but only Guddu knows how slow and butterfingered Shiza baji tends to be when it comes to kitchen chores.

“Baji! Why are you weeping?” asks Guddu when entering the kitchen.

“I am not weeping. I am just cutting onions,” replies Shiza baji, while wiping her runny nose with one hand.

“Oh, poor onions. Baji! What are you planning to cook today?” asks Guddu scornfully.

“Chicken korma,” replies Baji.

“Oh my goodness! God, please save the chicken. By the way, how many plates you have broken so far?” taunts Guddu.

“Mamaaaa.............!” Shiza baji cries in a protest against Guddu’s unjustified comments on her continued struggle to become a flawless cook.

“Guddu, what’s wrong with you? Why are you disturbing your baji?” Mama intervenes in time, as she is well-aware that Guddu has quite the bad habit of laughing at others’ mistakes.

“I was just kidding Mama,” says Guddu while leaving the kitchen.

Sitting together at the dining table for lunch, everybody seems to enjoy the chicken korma. Guddu, on the other hand, is trying to find faults with the design of the roti, which is surprisingly round-shaped this time, but it looks burnt at the edges.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Here comes another burnt roti,” says Guddu, waving the roti in the air to get everybody’s attention.

“Guddu! It’s so mean of you. She has just started learning cooking and is really doing a good job. You must appreciate your baji’s great effort, instead of making fun of it,” scolds Papa loudly, because he and every other person at the table seems to be annoyed with Guddu’s behaviour.

Next day, Papa comes a bit late from the office, carrying loads of office files as usual. But, he has also brought with him a sparkling new navy-blue shirt, which has been gifted to him by his close friend who has recently returned from Australia.

“What a cool shirt it is,” says Guddu.

“Yes, it is. It’s, in fact, quite expensive too. My friend advised me to wash and iron it with extra care because it happens to be a limited-edition shirt made with the world’s finest and the rarest Egyptian cotton yarn,” informs Papa.

“Can you iron it for me? I think I must wear it at tomorrow’s annual dinner meeting of the company,” asks Papa before handing the shirt over to Guddu.

“No problem, Papa. To me, it takes not more than a minute to iron any fabric,” says Guddu confidently, paying less heed to Papa’s warning about the delicacy of the shirt’s fabric.

Papa believes it is always better to sprinkle water on clothes before ironing them, as it helps increase the fabric’s life. However, Guddu feels there is no such need to sprinkle clothes with water, as it makes ironing quite a lengthy process. This time again, Guddu goes against Papa’s instructions and starts ironing the shirt in a slapdash manner.

To flatten the curled-up corners of the collar, he forcefully tries to straighten the affected patch by holding the iron on the fabric for more than 30 seconds. As the fabric is not sprinkled with water, it starts burning when pressed hard and the collar ends up becoming heavily scorched and burnt, particularly from the edges. Papa’s brand new shirt has been ruined even before its first wear.

Guddu finds no room to escape from the spot, as the rank smell of burnt fabric is enough to draw everyone at home towards the ironing board, the place of incident.

“Guddu! You ruined the shirt?” shouts Papa in an angry mood.

“I am sorry, Papa, really sorry. In fact, I have never ironed a delicate shirt like that. It was just my first try on this kind of fabric, so I should be given a margin of error,” pleads Guddu.

“Why should we give you a margin of error on your first attempt when you jubilantly wave the slightly burnt roti in the air to let everyone know about Shiza baji’s cooking faux pas? Isn’t she cooking for the first time too?” Papa’s explanation leaves Guddu speechless.

“In fact, everyone makes mistakes when learning any new thing. We are never supposed to taunt or scoff at someone whenever he or she errs. I think God has taught you a much-needed lesson in respecting others, no matter how immature or inexperienced they are,” Papa lays it on the line.

Guddu stands silent as if he is trying to think what to say at the moment. Without uttering a word to Papa, , he goes to Shiza baji to offer his earnest apology and finds her busy in the kitchen, now washing dirty plates and dishes and that too all alone.

“Baji! May I help you wipe wet plates?”Guddu offers her a lending hand.

“No thanks,” says Baji straightforwardly, leaving Guddu in a state of regret and guilt for the most obvious reason.

Published in Dawn, Young World, September 22nd, 2018