Kitchen for Absolute Desi Disasters:
The English Edition(Because Your Mom Didn’t Raise You to Murder Dal)
Listen up, all you Maggi loyalists, “boil-in-the-bag” legends, and aunties who think “tadka” is a TikTok trend. This is your final warning before you turn your mother-in-law’s 40-year culinary legacy into a national tragedy.
Use a cloth or tongs, you absolute caveman
That kadhai just came back from the surface of the sun. Grabbing it bare-handed isn’t bravery; it’s how you unlock the “Third-Degree Burn Achievement”.
Label every jar like you’re running a government ration shop
Otherwise your “turmeric” turns out to be ₹5000/gram Kashmiri saffron. Your pulao will glow like a Diwali decoration on steroids. Guests will whisper, “Bhai, radioactive biryani?”
Salt and chilli have no undo button, bro
Too much salt → you just invented Pickle Curry. Too much sugar → congratulations, dessert for dinner, hope you like sweet khichdi.
Print the recipe in font size 50, not Comic Sans on your dying phone
Squinting at a 2% battery screen while onions stage a protest in the pan is how homes become bonfires.
Prep first, light the gas later
Turning on the stove and then sprinting to the fridge screaming “Where’s the bloody tomato?!” is a national sport. Don’t win gold in it.
Master your mom’s rajma before attempting “French fusion”
Learn to not burn dal before you graduate to dishes that require a French accent and a fire extinguisher on standby.
Phone is allowed in the kitchen only to call Mummy for rescue
Scrolling Reels while milk boils over = instant ceiling art installation. Caption it: “When life gives you boiled milk, make rabri… on the fan blades.”
Own a clock or count pressure-cooker whistles like a pro
Five extra minutes turns aloo gobi into aloo charcoal. Timing isn’t important; it’s the whole damn thing.
Relax, you’re probably worse than 98% of India
There’s an uncle in every colony who still burns omelettes and proudly calls it “extra crispy”.
Your own cooking always tastes Michelin-level (to you)
Slightly raw dosa, mildly burnt roti, suspiciously orange dal… doesn’t matter. When it’s made by your own tragic hands, it’s a 5-star experience.
Bonus level-up tip:
Always, ALWAYS secure the mixer lid unless you want the kitchen to celebrate Holi in February.
Now go forth, ignite the gas (safely), and prove that “ghar ka khana” can also mean “ghar almost jal gaya, but we survived”.
Jai Hind, Jai Kitchen, and may the force (of the chimney) be with you.