Daal

Most kids fear creepy crawlies, the monster that lives under the bed or the villain from their favourite movie. Not me, though; I was afraid of the pressure cooker. ‘HISSSSSSSSSSSSS’ is the venting sound my mum’s battered old Prestige made, like a mongoose fighting a snake. Standing within a three-metre radius of the thing stirred up suspense, like the menacing Jaws theme tune. You knew the great white shark was circling, waiting to strike, but you just didn’t know when. On Saturday mornings, the release of the furious pressure cooker served as my alarm clock, signalling that there was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Saved by the Bell to watch on telly, Coco Pops for breakfast and urad (Gujarati black daal) for lunch. Even now, when the pressure releases from a tightly sealed vat of bubbling daal, my heart thumps something rotten.