Tales of food (or lack thereof) from an old hostel

Although I was a day scholar, whenever I heard the hostelers in college narrate their harrowing hostel food stories, I knew they were not carping about nothing. I could fully empathize with them because long time back I had the privilege of spending about 3 weeks in a private mini hostel towards the end of my school days. Had I spent more time there, I would have looked like a prisoner in Hitler’s concentration camp. The hostel was run by Chathan, Mathan and Pothan (or so we used to call them), Chathan being a grumpy old man who took care of the cooking; and Mathan and Pothan his servile minions.

Now, I’m a person who’s not that particular about food - veg or non-veg, spicy or bland, sugary or sourly - it’s not much of a problem for me; only that it should be edible. But Chathan’s food was outrageous even for my standards. You get something like black burnt bread with greenish brown butter and tea that tastes like buffalo vomit (not that I’ve tasted buffalo vomit, but you get the comparison right?); and the chicken curry whose gravy consisted of 99% water with a tiny little piece of chicken that can be viewed better if you bring a microscope along with you. And not to forget the murky water in the taps. The dinner time would be something like that freaky ‘Fear factor’ show, where Peejay, Chakka and I would struggle with ourselves in pushing and squeezing the gastronomic delicacies down our throat. Chakka was perhaps the most tortured with the food, and in fact the name ‘Chakka’ was now a misnomer; his weight plummeted from stratospheric levels to normal level by now, thanks to Chathan food. And Pothan’s occasional raids in our room put an end to Peejay’s reading of comics. Pothan’s remark “You brats reading dirty books??”, on seeing the bikini clad Betty and Veronica in Archie comics, made us go to the church and confess how perverted and filthy our minds are.

One evening as I was just taking a nap, Peejay comes to our room and airily says,

“You know, Chathan made burger today”

And I sprang up from my bed in shock and disbelief.

“What?! Burger!! Chathan? Here? IMPOSSIBLE!!”

“Go see for yourself. If possible, get me one more too. It’s lip smacking!”

I ebulliently jumped down the stairs and rushed to the mess hall. Yes it’s true, there’s burger. I don’t know what the criteria are for a concoction of food to be called a burger, but it somewhat looked like one for sure. But on closer inspection, it was understood that the so called ‘burger’ contained 2 pieces of bun (the cheapest ones you can get in a local bakery) and a cutlet sandwiched in between; the shape of the cutlet reminds one of the picture of amoeba that we studied in biology textbooks. In short, 2 buns + cutlet = the innovative post modern age yummy yummy Chathan burger (patented).

A crestfallen and disappointed me (you know how it feels like when they bring a plate of chicken biriyani right in front of your face, and you smell it, and saliva oozes down your lips, and then all of a sudden the plate crashes down to the floor, and rats and lizards start licking the biriyani on the floor right down you. Well, it was not exactly that feeling, but the impact factor of this scenario commensurate with my Chathan burger scenario) trudged back to my room with head down, only to see Peejay’s 100 Watt, old incandescent smile (old incandescent coz of his yellow teeth). Putting his arms over my shoulder, he slyly said with a malicious grin, “Come, let’s find our next gullible victim”.

And that’s when Chakka walked by the corridor.

“Dey Chakka, Chathan made burger today”

“What?! Burger!! Chathan? Here? IMPOSSIBLE!!”