THE POLL KITCHEN – No Baingan Tonite

Onion Skingh sat on his gaddi in the kitchen, struggling not to roll off. He had upturned a basket to make for a high seat, so that the other vegetables could not hop up to sit next to him. He was on an all time high, but keeping position, as we all know, is a very difficult task. Besides, he was round as well.

Onion was also a bit worried about his appearance today. Some dry skin was peeling off, and he was rather particular about looking tidy. He was not looking so fresh, he felt. After all, his job was to keep a stiff upper lip and vegetate. He sniffed a bit – he hoped he was not giving off an odour due to the peeling of the skin. For today, Madame Brinjal was coming in for a meeting.

Onion was a bit uneasy. His price was at an all time high, which meant that it distanced him from everyone. He smelt a conspiracy. On one hand Madame Brinjal assured him that the pricey ‘ness’ was to keep his flag flying high. On the other, there was Bir Raj Brinjal, the heir apparent, who was behaving like he wanted to make onion chutney.

Bir Raj was a bit of an irritant. Onion hoped he wasn’t coming into the meeting. His chest felt a bit fluttery already. The fridge suddenly opened and there was Madame Brinjal, closely followed by a few beans, two-three carrots, one cucumber, a gaggle of ladies fingers, a turnip and a bitter gourd. One or two smaller brinjals tried to follow Madame but she deftly kicked them back into the vegetable crisper and shut the fridge door.

“Aah, there you are Onion,” she smiled, her purple skin crinkling. “Hope you are keeping power properly.”

“Madame! Yes, of course... Do hop up. I am keeping this basket warm for you and Bir Raj. Has he come?”

“Bir? No, no. He is sleeping in. There was some Currynival last night Onion. And Bir organised it... He is tired.”

“Yes Madame, Bir is indeed a shining star.”

“Stop that Onion! Now tell me, what’s today’s menu?”

“Ahem... er... it’s kichidi for breakfast and parathas for lunch with ladies finger. Then, for dinner I thought, rotis with brinjal chutney...”

Madame looked up sharply. “What do you mean Onion?”

“Er... I meant Tomato Chutney Madame!”

“Where are the Tomatoes?” asked Madame sharply. “Have we finished them off or what?”

Before Onion could reply, there was a shrill yell, “Nonsense, nonsense!”

It was Bir Raj, and he was holding aloft a rather shrivelled and dry looking onion.
Onion Skingh shivered. He had a premonition of things to come.

“Mamma! Make way!” He leapt on the upturned basket and with the force of the velocity of his movement, kicked at Onion Skingh.

The sharp and fierce blow sent the elderly Onion rolling off the basket straight into the dustbin. Bir then placed the shrivelled onion atop the basket, next to Madame. Flashbulbs popped as the media captured this unexpected elevation.

“What did I tell you Mamma, about velocity? See, I brought this onion from the dumps, and now your Onion is in the dustbin.”

“Bir! What are you doing?”

“This is a poor onion Mamma, and I used velocity to kick the old Onion out and elevate this poor onion...”

“By Jupiter, are you mad?” Madame’s lips purpled and quivered. “Put him back in the dumps, we need him there you fool. Without him in the dumps, what will you have to talk about? And have Onion Skingh picked up from the dustbin and brought back up.”

“But Mamma, you told me...”

“I have told you a lot of things, now do as you are told.”

Well, to cut things short, Onion Skingh is back on top of the basket alongside Madame and they are cooking up a new menu.

Bir, meanwhile, has taken the onion back to the dumps and lovingly put him back in a special hole dug in the mud. He has promised to visit him again.