Killing me softly, with a bucket Am I chicken, or just henpecked? By Cecil Pinto
When Renuka is around my wife Beatrice behaves strangely. Renuka is a woman who comes in every morning to do the dishes, sweep and swab the floor, and occasionally scrape a coconut or knead some flour. Now understand that we are a lower-middle class family with aspirations to the middle-middle class. From all external appearances we could easily be mistaken for middle-middle class but our combined annual income, and pending loan installments, shows the true story. When Renuka appears every morning Beatrice tries to downplay our status to make us appear like lower-lower class folks. She will complain about the price of vegetables, even if the prices have not gone up recently. She will not use the microwave or put on the TV or use the cordless phone for the one hour that Renuka is around. We don’t even discuss money matters more than a few hundred rupees. “She will think we are rich and demand more money monthly”, Beatrice whispers. I don’t quite get this logic but don’t interfere either. Acquiring and retaining a maid is a tedious and delicate process and it is best left to those who can handle it - read wives. The last time a maid resigned I was forced to swab the floor and scrape coconuts for a month. Silence is the better option. So it is but natural that the subject of Kentucky Fried Chicken came up one evening when Renuka was not around. God forbid she knew we were frequenting such a high profile restaurant. She would demand a raise of a few hundred rupees at least. “Anyone knows that fried chicken is bad for health!”, I protested. “But Dada it’s so tasty”, Desmond pleaded while licking his lips. My younger son Fabian nodded assent. “How do you know?”, I asked him. “Russel told me.” “Where did Russel taste Kentucky Friend Chicken?” “In Dubai last year. Every year his father takes the family to Dubai for holidays, while you take us to Calangute.” “The world comes to Calangute for holidays and not to Dubai. Anyway we were talking about fried chicken. Even if it’s tasty it’s also very unhealthy.” “But Dada they use a Secret Recipe of eleven herbs and spices which was created by Colonel Sanders himself.” “Bah! That’s a carefully constructed and maintained corporate myth, like the Coca Cola secret recipe.” “No Dada. The Coca Cola formula is kept in a safe in Atlanta but the KFC formula is in Louisville.” “How come Desmond know so much about junk food and knows so little about Goan history?”, I shouted out to Beatrice who was in the kitchen. “He learns it in school.” “They teach fast food lore in school now?” "No Dada. Savika told me in school.” “How does Savika know so much?” “She has this small booklet that she picked up when she visited KFC in Singapore.” “Savika went to Singapore? Savika? Her father runs a bloody beach shack in Baga.” From the kitchen Beatrice yelled, “Yes, and he makes more money in a month than you make in a year.” “Ha! Sure he does. But just for six months. What does he make in the remaining six months ? Hanh? What does he do in the off-season months? Hanh?” “He takes his family to Singapore and other places!” “Oh!” Stumped again. “Anyway see how they have re-branded themselves as KFC instead of Kentucky Friend Chicken. They know that people worldwide are getting health conscious and know that friend chicken is bad for health.” “But Dada they now use trans fat-free oil soybean oil that reduces the risk of heart disease and…” “Ok, ok! Let’s visit the place but only once. Just to taste it, you understand?” “That’s all I want Dada.” Now the KFC outlet in Panjim happens to be a stone throw away from my apartment but Desmond insisted that we go by car. The logic here is reversed from what we want to portray to Renuka the maid. While visiting certain establishments Desmond wants to make it appear we are richer than we actually are and that we are just slumming down for a change. We found a parking slot and I could not believe what I was looking at - colourful interiors with dazzling bright lighting. It was like observing rats in a laboratory. We could clearly see everyone inside and what they were eating, and they couldn’t see us. Maybe after eating all that fattening food they go off to Norbert’s gym in Caranzalem where also there is bright lighting inside and clear windows which allow everyone from the road to see everyone exercising inside. Somehow I always though that dining and exercising are relatively private acts. Our society’s emphasis on conspicuous consumption have made them into public performances. Why would I want the world to see me huffing and puffing on a tread mill, or licking my fingers? The Devnagri ‘Kay Eff Cee’ in huge letters on the front façade looked ridiculously incongruent with the rather Western styling inside. We entered to be handed a colourful disposable menu with all sorts of tantalizing offers and combos. Then we saw the slow moving line of about fifty people and retreated back to our car for a while to let the line reduce - and some tables empty up. Desmond of course wanted the most expensive items while my eyes were on the opposite side of the spectrum. “The Veggie Snacker looks good for Rs. 29/-” “Cecil, we didn’t come to a chicken place to eat vegetables. This Family Feast sounds good at Rs. 499/-” “Chicken in a bucket? What bloody nonsense! A bucket belongs in a bathroom and not on my table. Bah!” “It’s works out to just Rs. 125/- per person.” “We could have masala dosas and sheeras and limbu-sodas for all four of us for Rs. 125/-, served fresh on our table in two minutes. No waiting in line and carrying your own food. Bah!” “But Cecil, don’t be such a skinflint. A cheap veg meal is not the same as Crispy Chicken, Hot Wings, Boneless Strips and… Oh! Oh! Cecil lets go home. Now! Right now!” “What?! After all the fuss you want to go home? What happened? Kaun Banega Crorepati is about to start?” “No. I just saw Renuka entering KFC with her kids. You know what she will think if she sees us there.” -------- The column above appeared in Gomantak Times dated 28th October 2010 ===== _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ _/ _/ tambdimati: the Goa review is a community blog of original _/ art, writing, music, news and commentary from and about the _/ smallest state in the subcontinent. check out the newest _/ member of the Goanet family daily at _/ http://www.tambdimati.com. _/ _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
