When the apocalypse came, you were put in charge of food prep.
Rioting is hungry work after all.
Well, the Book of Heroes will remind us that the Riot of the Starving Giggers was what started it all, but it is more or less generally understood nowadays that a sustained riot, the kind that will bring down walls, then buildings and then entire systems of oppression requires well-organized, well-rested and most significantly, well-fed, rioters.
And then of course the Rain started.
What the Riot couldn’t manage, the Rain most certainly did.
But we digress.
You see, Joy Day is coming. And you have a meal to prepare.
[[But first, you must step out the door.]]
It is just past 11 in the am and you stand outside the Reclaimed Residence, where a room was assigned to you three days ago by the Aunties-in-Maxi Collective. You don’t know anyone who shares this space with you. But you must feed them. And feed them well. That is the role you must play, unless you want to return to your wanderings alone, like in the before times.
It is Market Day. And you have a lot to get done, starting with acquiring supplies.
Outside a group of unclaimed offspring play with the neighbourhood strays as the Watch-Cat, watches. You walk past the children. The Watch-Cat watches you.
[[Stop and Pet the Cat]]
[[Keep Calm and Carry On]]You approach the critter, careful to keep your gaze averted. Slowly you reach out with one hand. When the cat remains still, you gently drop your fingers onto its soft, furry head. Purring ensues. One of the children comes up to you.
“Uwaa! Are you a Cat Person?” The kid, who is not even old enough to have their first gender-reveal party, looks awestruck.
In the few days you’ve spent in the Neighbourhood, you’ve realized that Cat People are highly revered by the locals and not anyone can be a Cat Person.
“Nah,” you reply with a smile, “I’m just a Kitchen Person.”
“You must be real lucky then,” the kid responded, “cause that beast don’t let no one touch it!”
“I guess I must be.”
With a last scratch to the Watch Cat’s chin you continue on your way to [[The Bazaar]].
You don’t want the children noticing you. You especially don’t want them to think you are a Cat Person. You are a Kitchen Person. Those are not designations you can mess with lightly. So you avoid the Watch-Cat and continue on your way to [[The Bazaar]].You stand at the entrance of the bazaar. It is the largest, noisiest, most crowded space you have seen in a long, long time. Colours scream at you. Smells assault you. People shout. Someone’s trying to trade 3 eggs for 6 potatoes. There’s a row about yesterday’s dung. Someone’s excited about new shoes. The Aunties have changed the timings again. Things fall. Prices rise. It’s too much.
It’s. Too. Bloody. Much!
[[Turn back]]
[[Go in]]
There won’t be another Market Day for two weeks.
The thought claws at you as your shamed feet patter back down the path you came. But not enough to halt your retreat. Perhaps this was all a mistake. Coming back here. Thinking that you could… what? Fit in?
But the noise. The noise won’t let you belong.
“Oi, watch where you’re going!”
The shout catches you just in time to prevent a collision. But it also shatters your pretense.
You fold, hands over your ears, eyes squeezed shut, struggling to breathe.
It had been building up to this since you came back. But even expecting it, didn’t mean you had any control over it.
You scream and cry and rock and sob.
And at some point, it’s over. As is the nature of these things.
The person who shouted at you crouches nearby. A woman who looks to be about your age, though clearly she has lived here longer.
“Water?” she asks.
You nod. And proceed to wash your face and pour some over your head before gulping the rest down.
“You’re the new Kitchen Person, aren’t you?”
You nod again.
“I’m Azu. Were you out for Market Day?”
“Couldn’t go in. Too loud.”
“Hmmm… so what are you going to cook for Joy Day?”
You shrug, feeling the frustrated tears come again.
“Well, let’s go back to the kitchen and see what we have, shall we?”
[[Go to the Kitchen]]You think of the before times. No one to feed you. No one to care about. Half-remembered fantasies were the only thing that filled your day.
And trials.
And failure.
And hunger.
Till the Aunties found you. And fed you. And gave you something to do.
And now you have a place to belong. Residents counting on you.
You walk into the Bazaar. The chaos parts around you. And then swallows you whole.
In the jostle, you have to remember what you came for.
You look at [[The List]] clutched into your hand.
Vegetables of some sort, any greens
Things that make other things taste better - onions, tamatar, lassan and the like
Three whole Chickens or whatever bird is available
You find yourself breathing just a little easier. One step at a time. You know where you must head next.
[[The Kamela]], where hunters and herders come to trade meat and animal products
[[The Sabzi Mandi]], where collectives bring whatever they grow in their assigned spaces
The Book of Heroes tells us that in the before times, for centuries and centuries, families were forced to be butchers, and tanners, and leatherworkers, and, and nothing else because… because…
You can’t really remember why.
You are faced with five or six people, of varying build and gender. Standing beside platforms that once were trees.
“Taste this milk, just taste it, sweet like honey!” says the first.
“Quail eggs, you want? Last two dozen left,” insists the second.
“You’ll never find a deal like this,” says the one attracting all the flies.
They all say something. Clamouring for attention. Eager to strike a deal.
All except one.
There is something building beneath your sternum. It doesn’t feel pleasant.
[[Approach the Closest One]]
[[Approach the Silent One]]You stumble and weave your way across the expanse to where the produce stalls are. You are expecting a riot of colour - pumpkins, aubergines, carrots, methi, spring onions, cauliflower, radish, beats. The Rain has been generous recently.
But what you encounter is brown.
Gunny cloth drying in the sunshine. No sight of anything edible. No person either. Except one.
A slight fellow wearing a wraparound and a headscarf, with slanted eyes. He looks at you like you are a squirrel who has darted up the loose wires dangling from a window.
“A little late, aren’t you?” he comments, swinging his broom lazily.
“Are they gone?” you ask, heart sinking.
“They’ve been gone a few hours already. Everyone knows, if you want veg on Market Day, you show up at the crack of dawn.”
You’ve not seen the crack of dawn for years, unless you stayed awake till it came.
“Err… so the vegetables… all over?” you ask.
You must look pathetic enough that he lets out a sigh.
“Come here.”
You do as you are told, and follow him to the very back end of the space. With a flourish, he lifts a gunny sack to reveal a small pile of… well, calling them vegetables would be generous. Colour faded, limp, pulpy, odds and ends, chopped off, damaged. Your chagrin must show on your face enough that the man sighs again.
“Where have you come from that you don’t know how to make do with old veg?” sounding more amused than annoyed.
“What-what do I do with these?” you ask, curiosity piqued despite circumstance.
“Ayya! Boil them down to a nice stock. Nice and slow. Turn them on the fire first for more flavour. Not the lemons, haan. They will just make all things bitter. Lemons you make achar with or something.”
“Oh!” you exclaim, long-forgotten connections sparking again in your brain, “and if I boil some rice or grain it in, I’ll get some kanjee or khichadi!”
“Everyone loves khichadi,” the man says, with half a smile.
“Do you?”
“Me?” The man points to himself as if he wasn’t the only other person around.
“What’s your name?”
“Uki. What’s yours?”
You give him your name and then add, “Come to the Reclaimed Residence, for Joy Day. I’ll be making khichadi in veggie stock!”
“Err…”
“It's your idea, it’s only fair you get to eat it!”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll come.”
“Great! Now can you just help me fit all this into my bag?”
[[Head home]]
Eager to be done with this, you angle yourself towards the closest person. Of course it is the lord of the flies.
“You’ve come to the right place,” the man says. He has oiled hair and a smile that puts you on edge.
But you are distracted from his expression by the absolutely ginormous baggy thing he pulls out and places on the counter, followed by several smaller baggy things, all in varying shades of white, grey and pink.
“I was saving this for myself, you know,” he says with a wink. “Ojidi, kheeri, kapoora, gurda-kaleji… only for you.”
Intestines, udder meat, testicles, kidneys and liver.
“I-I don’t know how to—”
“But cleaning ojidi… that is tough, haan. You have enough water at the Residence?”
“Yeah, the taps still work. But I don’t know how to clean or cook any of this!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you, my baba had best recipe. Kat-a-kat. You boil everything separately, then cut into tiny-tiny, add masala and all—”
“Wait, you want to come to my residence!?”
“To help you cook. And clean. Your residents will be so happy!”
“But, I can’t—”
“Please, no trade needed also, just let me have a share of the meal. I even have all the tamatar, onion, garlic and all!”
You can’t name it, but you recognize the fragile something behind his desperate smile.
“Alright,” you say, “you know the Residence with the Watch-Cat?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Take the meat and head there. I have a few more things to trade for. I’ll see you there.”
“And we’ll cook together?”
“Of course we will.”
[[Time to head back]]Your Market Day adventure has come to an end.
What you ended up with in your bags was not what you wanted. But you discovered a new recipe, something you had not imagined before.
And you may just have made a new friend in the process.
[[Kat-a-kat: Recipe Notes and Author’s Thanks]]
You resist the urge to slap your hands over your ears and make your way across the narrow path towards the last person in the row. Unlike the others, the wooden stump of their trade appears dry and fairly unused. They sit, their pallu spread as wide as their legs.
“I-I want some chicken…” you ask timidly.
“Does it look like I have chicken?” the person asks back.”
“Err… I… any other b—”
They raise their eyebrow and look down. You follow their gaze to a large plastic container by their feet, the kind still used by collectives to move water, the kind you used to haul several kilometers in the before-before times to earn the right to stay another day. In the water, crowded enough to make the liquid seem lit silver, are dozens and dozens of small fish. Still alive. Still kicking.
“My people used to call them chinglya, just like they call me Nainabai,” they answer your question without you having to ask. “What’s your name?”
You give them the name you have chosen for this time.
“You’re new here.”
You shrug.
“Guess that explains why you don’t know,” Nainabai says.
“Don’t know what?”
“The Aunties have put a hold on birds. The population needs to recover. But chinglya, chinglya are fine.”
“How… how do I—”
“You have oil?”
“Some.”
“How many mouths to feed?”
“Seventeen.”
“Whatever you have - spices, onions, garlic, chillis - chop and mix them with the chinglya. Heat oil in the kadai, and fry the lot. Should be enough for your residence. Think you’ll be able to carry the lot?”
“Yes, I’ve had practice. What will you take for them?”
“What do you have?”
“Some woolens the residence men knit.”
“Good for them, it’s getting to be cold again.”
“So, we have a deal?”
Nainabai takes the woolens and gives you the fish. Something in you eases. You feel like you can breathe again.
You turn around to leave.
“Don’t forget to leave one out for the Watch-Cat,” Nainabai calls after you. You turn around, surprised. Nainabai just smiles at you as they pack up to leave.
[[You make your way home.]]
Your Market Day adventure has come to an end.
What you ended up with in your bags was not what you wanted. But you discovered a new recipe, something you had not imagined before. And now, you can get on with the task of ensuring that people eat well.
[[Chinglya: Recipe Notes and Author’s Thanks]]
Thank you for playing this game through to the end. This is a rather unpolished first draft of… I am not entirely sure what, to be honest. But I hope you enjoyed it.
The recipe you ended up encountering was taken from Dalit Kitchens of Marathwada by Shahu Patole (translated by Bhushan Korgaonkar). My mother’s people make a version of it with dried fish and tomato sauce called rougaye.
There are three other recipes to encounter, should you choose to navigate the game again.
I would highly appreciate you sharing any feedback you have or simply the experience of food and cooking with me at hinaqui@gmail.com.
Thanks once again for stopping by.
[[Restart Game->Year 2064]] Thank you for playing this game through to the end. This is a rather unpolished first draft of… I am not entirely sure what, to be honest. But I hope you enjoyed it.
The recipe you ended up encountering was Kat-a-kat, originally a Pakistani dish made from sheep/cow/goat brains, intestines, liver, kidneys - basically any kind of meat you can get your hands on. My father, whose people are from Pakistan, but who we have never met, introduced this dish to us. He used to add a lot of red chillies and kheema to give the dish some veneer of “respectability.”
You can find a very simple recipe to follow here: https://cookpad.com/eng/recipes/11161239
There are three other recipes to encounter, should you choose to navigate the game again.
I would highly appreciate you sharing any feedback you have or simply the experience of food and cooking with me at hinaqui@gmail.com.
Thanks once again for stopping by.
[[Restart Game->Year 2064]] The Book of Heroes says a Kitchen is the Soul of a Neighbourhood and as such must always be placed at the centre of the community and must always remain open.
Yours includes a shed for drying and storing things, a shed for heat activities and open space in between for the rest.
Azu is already looking through the giant containers lined neatly in the storage shed.
“We have grains, some pulses, flour…” you explain, wary of Azu’s scrutiny.
“Dried onions… flavour powders.” Azu replies, without looking back. “Ooh, your herbs seem to be doing well.”
“Uncle from upstairs dropped them off this morning.”
“He does like picking his greens on those morning walks.”
“And-and we also have curd,” you add quickly. “I set it last night, d-didn’t want the milk going bad.” You don’t want to be seen as completely useless.
“Hmmm…”
“Is it enough?” Your voice sounds meek, even to your own ears. Azu seems to recognize that as well. She turns to you and smiles.
“There’s these things my partner used to make, in the before times. She called them fala-wadas. We soak the grains and pulses. Then we boil them, grind them, mix in some flour and flavour. Bake.”
“And-and we can use the curd, and herbs to make something to dip it in!”
“Oh that’s a brilliant idea!”
“I’ll get started right away!”
“I’ll help.”
“You will?”
“Just because you’re the Kitchen Person, doesn’t mean you have to do this alone. So come on, I’ll get the bowls.”
“And I’ll hang the curd.”
“Let’s cook together!”
[[Fala-wadas: Recipe Notes and Author’s Thanks]]Thank you for playing this game through to the end. This is a rather unpolished first draft of… I am not entirely sure what, to be honest. But I hope you enjoyed it.
The recipe you ended up encountering is an invention of my own, inspired by falafel, dal-wadas and hummus - all three things I started to cook when I was diagnosed with Diabetes and had to shift to foods with lower glycemic indices. Using hung curd as the base for dips is a trick that my dear Mahrukh taught me ages ago. Tie it up in a cloth, hang over your basin to drain for an hour or two. Then add cumin powder, chilli flakes, chives, parsley, sesame oil - just whatever the hell you’d like in a dip. Mix and serve.
There are three other recipes to encounter, should you choose to navigate the game again.
I would highly appreciate you sharing any feedback you have or simply the experience of food and cooking with me at hinaqui@gmail.com.
Thanks once again for stopping by.
[[Restart Game->Year 2064]]
Your Market Day adventure has come to an end.
What you ended up with in your bags was not what you wanted. But you discovered a new recipe, something you had not imagined before. And like a true Kitchen Person, you invited someone to a meal.
[[Vegetable Stock: Recipe Notes and Author’s Thanks.]]
Thank you for playing this game through to the end. This is a rather unpolished first draft of… I am not entirely sure what, to be honest. But I hope you enjoyed it.
I have always struggled to use up vegetables. So nowadays my go to solutions are to either roast/steam them and freeze them or turn them into vegetable stock and then freeze the stock. Stock is not just for veggies that have seen a better day, it’s also for the odds and ends you cut away while cooking. I start with whatever veg mess I have left over, then layer in aromatics and spices. Salt and sugar are optional, but highly recommended. There’s no one path to success and I continue to experiment.
There are three other recipes to encounter, should you choose to navigate the game again.
I would highly appreciate you sharing any feedback you have or simply the experience of food and cooking with me at hinaqui@gmail.com.
Thanks once again for stopping by.
[[Restart Game->Year 2064]]
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