Pasha

Pasha

My daughters Misha  and Paroo were about 4 and less than 3 months old respectively. We had jst moved into our own house 48 Surajmukhi at Rajkishore Nagar, Bilaspur. Our domestic help was Dukhalin Bai, a middle aged Chattisgariah lady, who knew the A to Z of taking care of new borns and allied activities. She used to massage Paroo from head to toe, and made her do some exercises, all the time singing " Dighi dighi dighi re, gutki ganiari!" and call her "Raani Bitcoolia".

Under these circumstances, my better half Iti decided that we must have a pet. Accordingly, scouts spanned out in all directions. To cut a long story short, we brought home a 10 day old dachshund, from the DIG's daughter. He was really tiny and could hardly sit. Every hour or so, he cried for milk which was dutifully passed out within 10 minutes. So, one empty carton, was converted into a dog basket, complete with towels, tissues, ping pong balls, rubber bones, et al.

After a long deliberation, we zeroed in on a suitable name for him, Pasha, coined from Paroo and Misha. Besides me, he was the only other male in our family of 6. Dukhalin was our local guardian and stood towering over Iti and the kids (both figuratively and literally). Pasha used to move around, sleeping all the time in Iti's apron pocket. tailor made for him! Our Bai observed, " You have no work, isn't it? So you have brought this dog?"

Iti had her hands full (as usual). I used to leave for work at 10 and return around 7/7:30. One day, I came home around 4 and our good neighbour, Mrs Bhattacharya asked Iti through the adjacent kitchen window, " Is Dada okay? He has come home so early?". Brother, this was the reputation I enjoyed.

Anyway, Pasha started growing by the day and in the absence of Pedigree (it was 1990) was thriving on milk with bread and chicken and rice. About a year later, Iti and our daughters went to Allahabad, Ma was in Calcutta and I was left to fend for myself. I had a small amount of raw chicken, including a leg piece, to cook for the weekend. I decided to prepare it the way I had seen Iti do umpteen times. As it was a Saturday, I reckoned I would be back by 4, and dipped the pieces in a glass bowl in half a cup of vinegar to marinate. I returned in the afternoon and to ensure that the chicken was sufficiently softened, I added two tea spoons of sauce and a sliced tomato. besides these ingredients I also added salt, chilly powder garlic paste and a pinch of haldi powder. Finally, to lend a touch of class to my dish, I put in small quantities of sliced potato, onion and carrot. I poured the gravy in the pressure cooker and after the designated three hoots, switched off the gas, and waited for it to cool.
Half an hour or so later I opened the lid, and observed that the stew looked great but there was something fishy somewhere. Well, being mighty hungry and unable to resist the temptation of tasting my first culinary effort, I took out a large spoonful of the stew and added it to the steaming rice on my plate. My anticipation knew no bounds when I put  the first handful in  my mouth. I immediately threw it out, it was so sour. I could hardly believe that anything could be so horrible to taste! I finished my lunch with a dollop of ghee and green chilly. As the roasted chicken was not to be wasted I kneaded the rice and chicken and placed it in Pasha's bowl
Will you believe it? He smelt it once, and just disappeared before I could even see where he had gone. And dogs, they say, are man's most loyal friend, the traitor!