It’s one of the few vegetables that my siblings and I did not dramatically resist eating in our childhood. In fact, to my delight I was to learn the many different ways in which this green queen of Indian vegetables – Lady Finger as it has been christened in the English language, could be cooked and eaten. The dry, fried, uncut version was always my favorite.
My cousin, a devout foodie and very particular about the way he likes his food cooked would insist upon the “Judi Hui Bhindi.” (The uncut version) My husband, however is a staunch fan of the traditional cut style.
Having admittedly never really cooked anything but pasta and Maggi noodles before marriage, my novel adventure down this path of Indian cooking commenced with this very vegetable. My husband’s work moved us many miles overseas to Germany where while the sausages were delicious, our Indian khaana called out every so often. It became clear that I would have to get on board this train sooner rather than later. And so out came the YouTube videos and before we knew it, we had declared Bhindi easy to cook. After the first burnt attempt, of course.
We now live in the UAE where the luxury of part time cooks comes as easy as the ‘desi’ population. So it happened that Mr. Singh ( ‘Maharaj Ji’) as my elderly Rajasthani cook is reverentially called began to grace our kitchen once a week.
We had soon grown attuned to each other’s ways and I would promptly do my grocery shopping in time for his weekly Sunday visit. One day, he called me to the kitchen. Ninety percent of the Bhindi I had purchased had been placed in a plastic bag and placed prominently in one corner. The remaining frugal amount was on the chopping board which he was staring at with a pensive frown.
On seeing me, he let his frustration loose verbally. Apparently I had purchased Bhindi incorrectly. My mouth fell open as he proceeded to curtly reprimand me on the faulty Bhindi that in his opinion was now a waste and was going to make its way to the trash. Using his index finger he animatedly began to explain to me how I had not tested the tip of each Bhindi adequately enough.
My insistence that I had indeed, tested the Bhindi was met with an expression of visible disbelief.
And so it transpired that after another similar chiding session and having to witness another ruthless “trashing” of my hard-bought Bhindi, I decided to hand over the stressful task to the great Maharaj himself. He was now to buy the Bhindi on his way each time we wanted to eat it.
Just when I was crossing off this line item of domestic stress from my list, content in the knowledge that this was no longer my problem, he called me promptly one day from Carrefour, one of the larger grocery store chains to announce that from the mountainous heap of Bhindi that Carrefour generously offered its patrons, not one piece merited a purchase.
Perplexed, I dared to ask, “Are you sure? Not even one?” and I almost bit my tongue when I was berated once again on the importance of buying “the best” Bhindi and how any compromise on this topic was unacceptable.
We ate Gobhi instead of Bhindi that day.
Bhindi continues to be a staple in our meals. And the great ‘Maharaj’ continues to be a staple in my life once a week. At least the Lady and all her Fingers are being vetted by the Lord himself!