I was sitting on the veranda, reading the newspaper, when my eight-year-old daughter came running to me and said, “Papa, papa, you said that the dreams you see early in the morning come true, right? So today, I had a dream, papa…”
“Oh, really? What did you see?” I asked, although I had forgotten that I ever said such a thing.
“Papa, I saw that I won the election by a huge margin and I…”
I had just put aside the newspaper in surprise when my daughter’s mother also arrived. She said, “Dreams, nothing! Go and play outside.”
The child looked crestfallen and glanced at both of us, trying to understand who was right.
Feeling embarrassed but trying to manage the situation, I said, “No, no, dreams do happen, dear. They really do.”
“No, they don’t,” her mother insisted.
Now, my daughter was interested in deciding whether dreams do come true, and whether the dream she had seen this morning would come true or not.
Seeing the argument brewing, my wife tried to strengthen her stance with evidence. She said, “Dreams come when your stomach is upset.”
“What nonsense! Why would the child's stomach be upset? And even if it were, all of us should have had upset stomachs because we all ate the same thing last night.” I reasoned.
“Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying. After dinner, you went for a walk, but later, she ate something that caused her stomach to get upset. That’s why she had this election dream,” her mother said.
“But what did she eat?” I asked.
“I made fritters last night, remember? That’s what she ate.”
“But we ate those too, and we’re fine!”
“Oh, you had them with sweet sauce, but she had them with chutney.”
“Why?”
“Because the sauce ran out, so I gave her some chutney made from mint that I had prepared in the morning. That’s it, sweet fritters with tangy chutney... that’s what upset her stomach, and that’s how she got this election dream.”
“Alright, alright, even if that’s what happened, what’s the harm in it? If children want to entertain themselves by dreaming once in a while, what’s the big deal?”
My wife was speechless at this and went back into the kitchen.
My daughter’s enthusiasm returned. She sat on my lap and asked, “Papa, will my dream come true?”
“It might, dear,” I reassured her.
“Papa, will it happen on its own or do I have to do something?”
“Dreams like these don’t come true on their own; you have to make them happen,” I tried to bring her back to reality.
“What should I do then?”
“Will you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you can do it? Then listen,” I began to explain. “Remember those fritters you had last night? How did you like them?”
“Papa, I was really hungry, so I ate them.”
“Alright, alright, no worries, but how did they taste?”
“Oh, Papa, how can sweet fritters with salty chutney taste? Just as you’d expect. My brother even spit out a bite. But I ate them.”
“Since you ate them, why don’t you come up with a good name for those chutney fritters... something like...”
“Shall I call them Pudina Puas (Mint Fritters)?” she suggested.
“No, change it a bit, make it Podin and change Puas to Pyaumin... Podin Pyaumin!”
My daughter started laughing. “But what will that do, Papa?”
“Now, you can send the recipe to a famous magazine, claiming it’s an Australian dish,” I suggested.
“Then, what will happen, Papa?”
“It will catch on, dear. Soon, households everywhere will be making sweet fritters with mint chutney... I mean, Podin Pyaumin.”
“But, Papa, everyone will see through our trick that we just made fritters and gave them a fancy name.”
“No, dear, we’ll also present the recipe differently, in a way that appeals to all moms and makes it seem genuinely Australian.”
“How?”
“We’ll write, ‘First, wash the mint in a vegetable washing machine…’”
“A vegetable washing machine?”
“Yes, that will make our dish popular because all the moms will start pestering their husbands to get them a vegetable washing machine to try the new dish.”
“But, Papa, there’s no such machine.”
“So what, dear? If it doesn’t exist now, it will soon. That’s how dreams come true!”
“Alright, then what?”
“Then we’ll write, ‘Prepare some mushroom oil for frying the Pyaumin…’”
“Papa, is there such a thing as mushroom oil? Wouldn’t it be poisonous?”
“No, dear, there’s no such thing. But don’t worry. Your uncle is setting up a vegetable oil mill in the village, and he plans to name his peanut oil brand Kukurmuta Oil. So as soon as Kukurmuta Oil hits the market, your Podin Pyaumin will become popular. You’ll help him, and he’ll help you!”
“Really, Papa? We’ll fry it in Uncle’s oil? Then why don’t we name it Taumin instead?”
“No, no, dear, Pyaumin is perfect. Just take a photo of it and send it to the magazine.”
“But Papa, from the photo, everyone will know we just made fritters and dipped them in chutney.”
“No, we’ll put a silver foil on top before taking the photo.”
“Alright, then what will happen?”
“Then it will be published, along with your photo. Then you’ll get lots of messages. Magazine editors will ask you for more recipes. You can keep sending them different recipes like calling sesame laddoos a Californian delight or sattu a Canadian eating powder. And you can weave in stories, asking your mom for help.”
“Like?”
“Like, ‘This dish was first made by Sanyogita on Prithviraj’s horse’s birthday.’”
“Oh, Papa! When did Sanyogita and Prithviraj go to Australia?”
“They must have gone at some point, dear. Don’t worry about that. The media will handle it. That’s how dreams…”
“Alright, Papa, then?”
“Then TV channels will invite you. They’ll ask you to demonstrate recipes on TV. You should go. Give a great performance there too.”
“But how will I speak on TV by myself?”
“You’ll manage, dear. Say, ‘Sisters, today we’ll learn how to make cauliflower marmalade. This is Sri Lanka’s favorite dish, served with date papad. Vibhishan’s wife served it to Lord Ram…’”
“Oh, Papa, tell me the recipe?”
“Yes, the recipe. You’ll say, ‘First, take some cauliflower, then make marmalade out of it.’”
“Alright, alright, Papa, I understand. But what will happen then?”
“Then ad agencies will approach you for modeling. Photographers will come to create your portfolio. Then film people will come. TV and film people will line up at your door. Directors and producers will queue up. Cars, trucks, and chariots will start arriving. Then they’ll say you look great on screen and suggest you stand in elections.”
“Really? Seriously?”
“Yes, then you’ll say you’ll think about it, and without thinking, just say yes.”
“Then?”
“Then elections will be held, votes will be cast, and your dream…”
“Alright, alright, I understand, Papa. But just tell me what my election symbol should be? And what name should I use?”
“Use the Govardhan Mountain as your election symbol! After all, it was during the Govardhan Puja that Mom made those sweet fritters.”
“Eww, Papa! You suggested such great names for dishes, and now you’re giving me such a boring election symbol?”
“Then you can make a flag with the image of Govardhan Mountain and call it Jack Govardhan.”
“And what should my name be?”
“Name yourself Shekhan Elizabeth!”
“But why Shekhan, Papa?”
“Well, dear, remember the story you told me yesterday about a boy named Sheikh Chilli? So, think about it, what would be the girl’s name?”
“Oh, Papa, I’m not talking to you anymore! I’m going outside to play.”
My daughter jumped off my lap and ran outside to play. Just then, her mother came out of the kitchen with a plate of fritters in her hand and said, “Here, I’ve made savory fritters with tangy chutney instead of sweet fritters. Give your mouth a little rest.”
I quickly took the plate and started to wonder, did she just say, “Give your mouth a rest?”
— Prabodh Kumar Govil
