The first vegetable I ever bought was a sawed-off cabbage that was going cheap. In the evening when it broke out in a fury of fungus, the ladies of the house (mother and sister, younger, mind you) burst out in laughter, trying to tell me how one should always buy vegetables that are ‘whole’, because an amputated one would usually mean gangrene, or something similar.
After that my responsibilities were restricted to emergency purchase of onions or potatoes (one cannot really go wrong there) and the odd coconut. Even the coconut, one was supposed to select and hand over to the ancient human manning the cart to check for soundness. He had a brass ring with which he would tap the coconut, cocking his head for better sound reception. I had no idea what he was listening to, because he never rejected a single coconut for being out of tune. Maybe I was a born coconut -selector. Maybe my talents were simply hidden behind thick heaps of sawed‑off cabbages. Meanwhile my sister grew up to become an astute veggie-buyer. She would joke and jostle with the women, plead with the men and basically endear herself to them to get the best price, while I would stand stoically behind her, holding the bag and passing on the money. It’s a wonder I’m still sane.
The years rolled by. I grew out of my parents’ house, setting up house in another city. I fell in with another human almost as lazy as I. Though we did have grandiose plans of running a well‑stocked kitchen (we bought a few hundred rupees worth of utensils), sadly we soon discovered the innumerable restaurants in the vicinity that delivered.
No, it is not as if I couldn’t buy vegetables. I was never sufficiently inclined to do so. Moreover, I truly believed that my time was better spent reading or listening to music or chatting or whatever it was I did then. The inclination plus the time came together during my stay in yet another city. A different country altogether. Here we had a maid who could cook a wide variety of stuff. Definite inclination to stock up our kitchen. Here I had two roomies whose expertise in buying vegetables was surely suspect Here I had a driver to ferry me to the farthest vegetable markets and even help me carry my plunder up the stairs. Here, I was allowed to, no, expected to let all that latent talent bloom, flower and fairly sing with glory.
So, soon, the maid got into the habit of leaving a list of requirements on my table every Saturday. And I would venture forth into the cesspits that were the vegetable markets to amass the provisions from which delicacies would be conjured forth. I’ve been doing this for almost two years now.
I know how one shouldn’t consider potatoes with growths in their eyes, for purchase. I can tell by feeling the tomatoes where they are on their life cycle. I know where they need to be too. I can judge beans and cucumbers in a single glance. And I can bargain. Never mind that the veggie-seller pads her prices because she knows exactly how I’m going to bargain. So many times I’ve walked away thinking I’ve been had. I guess the cabbage has never really left me. So every other weekend, I buy a papaya. Or a watermelon. I ask her if its ‘ready’. She nods furiously. I take the fruit in one hand and heartily slap it with the other. Thus I confirm it is truly ‘ready’ and allow her to include it in her final tally.