It starts with the host indulging the camera, cooing about last week’s amazing episode and the one at hand, flashing her resplendent lipstick and couture. The doyenne then makes her grand entrance with a flourish — all gaudy makeup and attire —and starts bustling about the kitchen, reducing the host to mere pinup eye-candy (which is sad because she can actually chop carrots and most cucumbers). Because it’s Ramazan — and the host has uncharacteristically donned a dupatta to féte the fact — the show has countless followers slobbering through the pre-Iftar live transmission. The doyenne is all clinical perfection. She sets the pots and pans and plunges into her feast of the day: chukandar-ka-batangar with achari samosas and what-not pakoras. As she lays out the raw ingredients, she wipes her hands on Morose Petal tissue papers, a box of which is prominently displayed in front of her. She then whips out a packet of Sham Chat Masala and sprinkles generously and showily on her ingredients as her sidekick enthuses about how amazing the product is, stretching her lips into a readymade coquettish smile. The grand dame extols the item’s medicinal benefits: being loaded with caraway seeds and asafoetida, it’s perfect for tummy worms, constipation and uncontrollable flatulence. She then adds a generous helping of Sham Batangar Mix — a hodgepodge of spices and culinary knickknacks — to her ingredients. “Cooking was never this easy or quick,” she declares, with worldly authority.
Soon, once a delectable jumble of her ingredients is gathered in a pan, the lady hefts a large bottle of Dal-do Cooking Oil and pours prodigiously all over (hence ‘dal do’), anteing up the flame and causing quite a sizzle. “The best cooking oil in town,” she proclaims, managing a wrinkly smile. “Good also for massaging sore joints and hips.” The host grabs the greasy bottle and places it right before the camera. “Oh,” she trills, “we have a caller waiting.”
The caller, one Mrs Garweeda from Juttabad, squeals in near-orgasmic tones as she addresses the culinary legend for the first time. “Yours is the greatest cooking show ever, Apa! I’ve been trying to get through for months.” The doyenne smiles her gracious, derelict smile and pats her turgid belly. “And oh, you look great!” the caller adds.
Another soon follows, equally effusive: “I, my husband and our eight kids all love you!” Apa nods in gratitude. “But I missed the last show as floods swept our TV away; could you please…”
“No problem,” the host smilingly interjects, “you can always catch the rerun at 2:30 AM.”
With the feast nearing completion, the host places the famous traditional red drink, Rooh-e-Afzaish-e-Nasl, on the counter. “Great for your Iftar, for your digestion,” the doyenne informs us. “And soooo sweet to the tongue,” the host adds melodiously.
When the sizzling, glistening, oil-drenched meal is ready, both ladies concur that everything looked scrumptious. “Can’t wait to get my hands on it,” the host gushes.
“It wouldn’t be possible to cook so easily for long hours if it weren’t for one last product,” the grand dame adds as a parting shot. The host, taking her cue, coyly pats a large box of Anyways sanitary napkins, extra-padded, and simpers sweetly. “Enjoy your iftar, folks.”
Published in The Express Tribune, September 5th, 2010.
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