The innovative Chef, Kunal Kapoor talks of his life and love for anything edible

Once upon a time a black sheep was born into a respectable family. This young sheep, unlike the obedient younglings of the family, did not wish to become a banker; instead he loved food and hoped to do something with it in his career. “Khansama! You want to be a bawarchi or a khansama! But why would you want something so terrible?”—such was the family’s reaction to Kunal Kapoor’s decision to become a chef. Born into a middle-class Punjabi family where everyone was either a proud banker or a part of the information technology bandwagon, being a chef was an anomaly and quite unacceptable. Truth being told, more than hoping to become a chef, what Kapoor really and badly wanted was to avoid being a banker. Numbers gave him nightmares. When someone informed him that “hotel management was a great career option” he just jumped into it. At the same time, he kept his family informed that he just ‘biding his time’ till he found a more respectable alternative. But the young chef enjoyed every minute of his course so much that he forgot about alternatives or the ‘more respectable’ professions. A factor that played in his favour was his parents’ support and the point that Chef Kapoor never really gave a hoot about anyone else. When he informed his mother of his decision (to study hotel management), she told him the most-cliched but universally accepted truth: “No matter what you do, do it with complete honesty and you will do well.” Armed with his mother’s advice and his chef’s hat (of course) Kapoor entered the hot, steamy and busy world of great chefs and grand kitchens. His first stint was at the Taj Group of Hotels. He worked there for four long years—which he rates as his “worst and best” times. He often ended up cursing himself, and his decision, to work in the hotel and for deciding to be a chef. “It was my induction into the rather disciplined and competitive world of corporate kitchens. What I did not know was that chefs were a disciplined, strict and rude lot. And that I would remain disconcerted most of the times,” says Kapoor. It was a time for learning. And his biggest lesson came during a trial for the post of the Corporate Chef which happened before the big daddy himself—the Head Chef. Kapoor had prepared a three-course meal for his top boss (details, he admits, are now a bit hazy). “I can remember making dahi ka shaurma (yogurt soup). That is it!” he says with a chuckle. He prepared the meal carefully. He presented it with aplomb. And he waited for a pat on his back. Instead the Head Chef threw the dish at him missing his face by inches. “I froze then and there. I could see my career as a Chef collapsing right in front of my eyes” he informs. The Head Chef had not tasted his soup. “Truth be told, even if he wanted to taste it, he could not have. I had forgotten to place the spoon next to the bowl and this is what evoked his wrath. My lesson from the incident was that being a chef was not about cooking right. It was also about presenting it right,”—a lesson he abides by. Chef Kapoor loves eating and can hardly stop talking about food. However, one does not simply become a chef because one loves food. One has to love the process of creating dishes just as much. Chef Kapoor grew up showing zero inclination towards cooking. His forays into his home kitchen were limited to occasional Sundays, when the men of his family took up the responsibility of providing the grub. “If my dad cooked the mutton, my grandfather would make a kulfi or kheer,” he reminisces. The men introduced little Kapoor—who would be sitting in one corner—to the amazing spices that rule Indian kitchens. Kapoor admits that he had not made anything, apart from a strong cup of Indian chai (and that counts as it is quite a complicated thing to make), till he was 16 years of age. Today, Kapoor judges cookery shows such as the Master Chef India (a more melodramatic Indian version of Master Chef Australia). His induction into television happened over a morning, when he received a call from a production company on the lookout “for the best chefs in the country”. Kapoor who knew nothing about the show was caught by surprise. At first he thought he was to host the show. Then to his delight, he found that he was to judge the event. After rounds of discussion, Kapoor agreed to face the camera. “Being on television is overwhelming; so many people stare at you. And there are so many cameras. It is scary,” he admits. “In a few weeks though, I was accustomed to it and even began to enjoy the attention,” he admits shyly. Anyone who watches even a bit of telly can tell you that the Indian version of the Australian cookery show became an instant hit. Its participants came from different walks of life and judges included celebrity Chefs such as Vikas Khanna and Kunal Kapoor, along with the country’s most famous khiladi, the Hindi film actor Akshay Kumar. Kapoor was moved by the participants’ tales of passion and grit and how they stuck on despite often pursuing different careers. “It was a great learning curve for me and I could not have asked for more,” he says. There is a hint of naiveté in Kapoor’s child-like enthusiasm for food. He might be a celebrity chef, but he remains the small-town guy rooted in traditions and who still adores his mummy’s cooking. A dish made of karela (bitter gourd) is his favourite. He believes that more than the right ingredients, it is the right attitude which keeps one creative in the kitchen. His current stint—The Leela Kempinski—is one of the most novel kitchens of the country. It would not be far from the truth to credit Kapoor for its reputation, as he is the chef de cuisine at the Leela. Today, he remains busy making state-of-the-art dishes and inspiring people—like the seven-year-old girl at the mall who seriously informed Kapoor that he was “cute” and that she would be a “chef like him” one day.

The richness of Greece makes one forget it has the rest of Europe in a financial spin

The country most recently in news for the European debt crisis; the one associated with giving the world the democratic system and drama, and whose divine myths have set the benchmark for ‘good looks’ for men the world over, is the country I fell in love with last summer. Greece is a traveller’s delight—there are breathtaking vistas for amateur photographers; scantily-clad women on sparkling white beaches for the young and restless; and the ancient ruins for those who are looking for peace and quiet. A complete package offering more than any other island clusters. For our first visit as a family, we decided to pack in sun and sand for the kids, and a bit of history for the adults. For that we headed off to the famous islands of Mykonos and Santorini. There are no direct flights from New Delhi to the smaller islands. Travellers have to take any international flight which connects to Athens. There are various ways of getting to the other islands from the capital, whether by air or one of the speed boats or ferries. Keep in mind that the frequency of the boats decreases remarkably during the beginning and the end of the tourist season, and flying gets to be the only option. The town of Mykonos is just a four-kilometres from the airport and is easily identifiable by its trademark windmills that perch proudly on its elevated land. There is pretty, and then there is Mykonos pretty. The town looks straight out of a fairy tale with pristine white houses and narrow streets where cars are not allowed to ply. For those who pride themselves on their sense of direction, Mykonos may prove to be quite a challenge. The streets are a confusing maze of passages which lead into one another and can be very frustrating to navigate if you are in a hurry. Be prepared to find yourself where you started, after walking for 15 minutes and negotiating what seem like a hundred turns! But if you are looking to get lost, the best way to do it is while browsing the shops. It is not unusual for a Prada or a Versace outlet, having shed its designer snobbishness, to rub shoulders with a shop selling local Greek jewellery. The town also boasts of a ‘Little Venice’, an area where—you guessed it—the houses are located on the sea. Little Venice is dotted with quaint restaurants and bars where you can enjoy a beer on a balcony jutting out over the sea, while waving out to a neighbour who is fishing for his supper from the comfort of his own balcony. Mykonos offers a variety of cuisines for the avid foodie, from burgers to fish and chips, but my favourite was the souvlaki roll—a popular Greek fast food consisting of small pieces of meat and vegetables grilled on a skewer. The fact that it is available everywhere for as little as €2, along with a fresh Greek salad for €4 at special souvlaki shops, adds just a little extra flavour to the dish. A day trip to the island of Delos is a must for all you history buffs out there, which must originate from Mykonos. The Mykononians have ownership of Delos and ferries to Delos ply only from their island. Delos itself is a well-preserved site of ancient ruins and is known to be the birth place of one of Greece’s most important deities, Apollo (the God of sun), and the Goddess of the hunt and hunters, Artemis. There are several ruins that are worth a visit, including the houses of Cleopatra and Dionysis, the temple of Isis and the Terrace of Lions. No one is allowed to stay back on the island at night, so do plan accordingly. But worry not, for Mykonos is most famous for its thumping nightlife and beach parties that often last up to three days and nights, with the best disc jockeys— and for those of you who need another reason— the best bikini bodies! However the parties happen only during the peak season, in the month of August. Those interested in the party scene—drinks in Mykonos are expensive (around 9€). If you are planning to head out at night, there are supermarkets where you can buy a decent bottle of wine for 6€ (approximately). Begin your own party before hitting the town or heading for the clubs and bars located almost on top of one another. After exploring Mykonos we set off for Santorini. We were honestly not expecting much, as Mykonos had truly won our hearts. Fortunately, we were proved wrong. The images of idyllic islands which I had in my memory—glorious beaches, sand and all—vanished as we reached Santorini. It is like no other island, made beautiful by volcanic activity that sunk the mass in the middle and left behind a crescent-shaped land with a caldera view. Most houses and hotels are dug sideways or down the pumice, so you may get to stay in places like ‘Mill House Steps’ that can be reached only after climbing down countless flights of stairs, even as you pass other hotels along the way. The best way to enjoy Santorini is by hiring a car and driving around, though it can be a challenge as the Greeks follow the American system of driving on the right side of the road. Still, do not forget to pack your international driving licence. Our drive of choice was ‘Smart’—a two-seater that had a sun roof through which you could gaze at the stars while driving around at night. The magic of the famous Santorini sunset—best experienced while gazing out at the Aegean Sea and cruise liners that form the perfect backdrop— can make you fall in love with your partner once again. There are few sunsets that can match what you get to see in Santorini. Oia is touted to be one of the best villages to view the sunset from and is frequented by famous photographers from the world over. We made our way to the small fishing village of Amoudia, a 20-minute drive from the main town of Thira, and has some of the most breathtaking views, with some great seafood. Santorini packs in yet another surprise with friendly people and eager-to-please vendors. As if the magic of the place did not make me feel pampered enough, a vendor gave me a simple corn on the cob with a sparkler attached, just to “make the lady feel special”. The food here is delicious as the volcanic soil helps in growing the most succulent cherry tomatoes and grapes, with the latter ending up as house red or white wines, which hotels serve by the jug. Interestingly, the wines are served in small glasses like the ones our local dhabas serve ‘cutting chai’ in. All in all, it is difficult to say ‘yassas’ (goodbye) to Greece once you do set foot in the country. All I can say is ‘efharitso’ (thank you) to the powers that be for taking me there.

YOU can take a gentleman out of Lucknow, but you cannot take Lucknow out of a gentleman—well we believe it because we have met Muzaffar Ali who seems to be the poster boy for the city of tehzeeb. If Vinod Mehta was our ‘Lucknow boy’, then Muzaffar Ali is our quintessential Lucknow gentleman. Of all filmmakers claiming descent from the Awadh region, Ali is perhaps one of the handful refusing to cut his umbilical cord. His films (the popular Umrao Jaan along with the lyrical and poignant Gaman and Aagaman) were based in his home state. Ali is a nightmare for journalists who love to label people—how do you ‘label’ a man who is a poet, painter, designer, filmmaker and a photographer? We chose to call him the ‘Renaissance Man’. Not only for his deep love of all things arty, but also for his Sufi soul, his discerning eye for beauty, and his vision of aesthetics and humanity. Ali follows his creative pursuits without any compromise. And he is driven by a sense of oneness of the human race; a dreamer who believes in a world where love is a reigning concept—at least it is an overriding theme in his films. Having said that, we were in a tizzy when the decision to feature Ali on DW’s cover was made. He, after all, is the present Raja of Kotwara, allegedly the oldest-living civilisation of Lakhimpur Kheri, the largest district in Awadh. How does a royal fit into a magazine dedicated to the largest democracy in this world, that too in a month when India celebrates its independence? But it was not Ali’s inheritance which endeared him to us. Rather, it was his legacy—how he chose to follow his father’s footsteps and work for the development of his village. How he was deeply influenced by his late mother’s musical affinities. How his unwavering faith in humanity is mirrored in his films. Ali is indeed a beloved king, but a twenty-first century one who reigns in people’s hearts. And why not? He has set up a design studio for Kotwara’s youth. He judiciously promotes traditional crafts through his design label which he co-manages with his stunning spouse. His Urdu and Hindi is impeccable and genteel, but he prefers to speak for the common man. Rugged and regal, Ali is the quintessential democratic artist—his art is for every citizen. He takes pride in his Indian roots. Read more about the enigmatic Ali on Page 12. Before I end, here’s wishing you all a very happy Independence Day—may India’s new President lead us all wisely towards a better tomorrow.

Media Role under Glare

MOLESTATION \\  A video clip showing a mob of men molesting a woman led to protests across the nation. The mob was led by a man called Amar Jyoti Kalita, who was arrested recently from Varanasi in Uttar Pradesh. In the clip, Kalita was spotted trying to rip off the shirt of the woman. Later he was joined by a mob who dragged and manhandled her. Days after the incident, RTI activist Akhil Gogoi claimed that the reporter of NewsLive TV, a channel that shot and aired the video, was the main culprit. “Gaurav Jyoti Neog and his friends were at the bar. They passed comments about the girls which led the brawl,” Gogoi said. “The reporter instigated his friends to assault the girl.” He alleged that Kalita, the main accused, was a friend of the reporter. “They went to the bar in the reporter’s Hyundai. They are being safeguarded by the channel owner,” he added. Gaurav Jyoti Neog was later arrested on charges of instigating the attack. The arrest came a day after the Guwahati High Court rejected his anticipatory bail plea. With Kalita’s arrest, 14 of the 17 identified in the incident have been put behind bars.

SCIENCE \\ More than 50 years ago, Peter Higgs and five other theoretical physicists proposed that an invisible field lying across the Universe gives particles their mass, allowing them to clump together to form stars and planets. Fifty years later the muchelusive God Particle (also known as Higgs boson)—responsible for providing mass to matter’s building blocks—was finally discovered in July 2012. Professor John Womersley, chief executive of the Science and Technology Facilities Council, told reporters at a briefing: “They have discovered a particle consistent with the Higgs boson,” and also added that the, “Discovery is the important word. That is confirmed.” According to scientists it is a 5sigma result which means they are 99.999 per cent sure about the findings of the new particle. The Standard Model, a theory which explains all the particles, forces and interactions that make up the universe, would have proved erroneous without the discovery of this particle. It is the final plug of the Standard Model Theory in Particle Physics. The existence of such a particle was proposed five decades ago in the 1960s by Peter Higgs, an Edinburgh-based physicist, after who the particle has been partly named. But until now pinning down the particle had become an impossible task. The particle which is known to travel faster than light provides mass to matter and makes the elementary particles stick together which otherwise run helterskelter without the mass. To locate the particle the scientists used the Large Hadron Collider to smash protons together at almost the speed of light and cleaned the debris for traces of the particles that sprang into existence for a fraction of a second before disintegration. The God Particle or Higgs boson is partly named after the Indian physicist Satyendra Nath Bose. In India the discovery led to an extensive debate on the role of Bose. The debate sprang from the fact that the ‘Higgs’ in the particle is a celebrated name in the scientific circle, but few are aware of the fact that Boson comes from Bose. Born during British colonial rule in 1894 in Calcutta (now Kolkata), Bose was a lecturer at Calcutta and Dhaka Universities. In 1924, he sent a paper to Albert Einstein describing a statistical model that eventually led to the discovery of what became known as the Bose-Einstein condensate phenomenon. The paper laid the basis for describing the two fundamental classes of sub-atomic particles—bosons, named after Bose, and fermions, after the Italian physicist Enrico Fermi. Bose specialised in mathematical physics and was a Fellow at the Royal Society. Yet another point of contention among the Indian scientific community was that while several Nobel prizes have been awarded research related to the concepts of the boson, Bose himself was never honoured by the Nobel academy. However The discovery of the particle has now opened doors to the understanding of the Universe.

DEMISE// Veteran freedom fighter, member of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army, and a national icon, Captain Lakshmi Sehgal expired on July 23, 2012, at the age of 97 after she was admitted to the hospital after suffering cardiac arrest

HR executive burnt to death

RIOT \\ A clash between workers and supervisors over disciplinary action resulted in violent clashes and the eventual death of an executive at Maruti Suzuki’s Manesar plant in Haryana. The plant’s human resources manager, Awanish Kumar Dev, was burnt to death during the riot while two Japanese employees were hospitalised along with 40 other Indian Maruti employes. Around 100 people, mostly workers, were arrested by Gurgaon Police in connection to the charges which include arson and attempt to murder. The Haryana government has formed a Special Investigation Team (SIT) to probe into the riot. After examining CCTV footage the police concluded that “armed with iron rods and car-door beams, a mob spread out in groups within the factory area and targeted supervisors, managers and executives... rendering many of their victims bleeding and unconscious. They ransacked offices, broke glass panes and finally set offices on fire.” Haryana Chief Minister Bhupinder Singh Hooda has said that stern action will be taken against those found guilty.

TENNIS \\ Tennis fans were in for a treat when Swiss legend Roger Federer won his seventh Wimbledon title and regained his numero uno spot. The champion came up with a cautious mix of resilience and range to stop fourth-seeded Andy Murray, the first Briton in 74 years to make the Wimbledon final. With this win the 30-year-old Federer levelled with Pete Sampras’ record of seven Wimbledon wins and clinched his 17th career Grand Slam crown. Federer, who stormed into a record eighth final at SW19, said, “I am obviously ecstatic with the win. It has been a tough tournament.” In the ladies finals, Serena Williams made history as the first woman since Martina Navratilova to seize the Rosewater Dish past the age of 30. She surged to her three-set triumph over Poland’s Agnieszka Radwanska, before combining with Venus for the pair’s 13th Grand Slam doubles success in 13 finals.

India gets its 13th President as the former Finance Minister wins hands down

ELECTED \\ Pranab Mukherjee was elected the thirteenth President of India. Mukherjee who was Congress’ chief trouble-shooter over the past eight years garnered 69.3 per cent votes and defeated his rival P.A. Sangma—who was backed by AIADMK, BJD and NDA (minus Shiv Sena and JD-U)—by a bigger than expected margin. While his victory did not come as a surprise, it turned out be sweeter for Congress as they managed to put up a show of united alliance. Mukherjee won 117 votes in the BJP-ruled 224-member Karnataka Assembly as opposed to the expected 102 votes, Sangma got 103 votes. “I will like to take this opportunity to thank the people of this great country for conferring this distinction upon me by electing me to the high office,” said the former finance minister in his acceptance speech. “Now that you have entrusted me with the responsibility to protect, defend and preserve the Constitution as the President of the Republic, I will try to justify, in whichever modest way as I can, to be as trustworthy as possible,” he said. After the results were announced, Sangma congratulated his rival and added that the country had lost an opportunity to support the tribals of India.

TABISH KHAIR: I was born in 1966 in Gaya (Bihar) India. I must be the only internationally-published Indian writer who writes in English, who not just grew up in a small Indian town but was even educated there. I went to the Nazareth Academy, a Christian missionary school, and later to the Gaya College under the Magadh University for higher education. At Nazareth Academy I remember being a well-behaved, and somewhat, an absent-minded student; I was possibly average or below average in everything except literature and sociology. Those were, and remain, my twin passions. As writers most of us start off by writing poems, I guess. There is something about rhyme and rhythm that attracts the human mind. I started off as a poet too. A somewhat bad one, but a poet nevertheless! However, my redeeming feature was that I was a precocious reader and read widely. Initially like all the other children I started off with the staples; Enid Blyton’s vast collection, the Hardy Boys’ series and also Three Investigators by Alfred Hitchcock. Then there were the fare of fairytales and comics—anything and everything that had the printed word and was present in the library. It is not surprising how a person’s reading taste changes or emerges. In my school days, my favourite authors were Jane Austen. Austen remained a great favourite for a long time, along with Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens, and I distinctly remember that I disliked Emily Brontë wholeheartedly. Now I find Austen a bit tiring, still love Dickens and Hardy, and worship Emily Brontë. I also discovered Nikolai Gogol in high school and he has stayed on as a favourite. As has Mark Twain. I read most of Tolstoy’s fiction in high school, but am unlikely to want to read it again. Later, as I widened my reading net, I discovered lots of other favourites—Mahasweta Devi, Ismat Chughtai, Roberto Bolano and Italo Svevo etc. Though I wrote some poems in Hindi, English was my strong point—a language that I was always sure of. I come from an Urduspeaking family and went to school that did not teach Urdu. And the Hindi that was taught was ‘purified’ in a big way. It could not possibly have any smattering of Urdu words in it. I had to suffer every time I used an ‘impure’ Urdu word by mistake. That led to the low grades I guess. To me there was little distinction between pure Urdu and pure Hindi, because in general, everyday life people around me spoke both a mix of both. English was distinct from the Indian languages because one could never mistake it for anything else. So learning English was simpler. At school a lot of teachers encouraged me to read. My parents were not literary but they knew the advantages of reading, and books. As a result I was greatly encouraged by my parent to read. Not only me, of my the siblings. I call my family an ‘occasionally reading family’, at least for a small town in Bihar. There were books in the family. One of my uncles, Kalam Haidri, wrote in Urdu. Basically I think I just liked reading: it was the one thing I did not dislike doing in school. Maths and sports were another matter altogether. Surprisingly, one of the few awards that I received in my school life was a district gold medal in discus. I realised I was fond of writing and kept plugging away at it. And I accumulated rejection slips. Perhaps, there are no other ways to it but to try, try and try again. I tried to explore what others were doing and cultivate my own voice. Slowly I started getting accepted. In 1989 or so, Rupa—a major Indian publishing house— had a national competition for poetry. I assembled a manuscript on my grandfather’s typewriter and sent it in: it was one of four (out of 700-plus) submitted entries which were accepted. Later on the then editor of Rupa told me that he had thrown my poems away at first; it was so badly typed and unprofessionally presented. But he happened to look at it again, and was impressed by the collection. At that time, I was still in my small hometown of Gaya; the other three winners were big city writers. That was one of those affirmative instances in my life when you begin to believe that perhaps what you have dreamt may work after all. Post Gaya, I studied at the local Magadh University to complete my Master’s. Afterwards it was time to start working and like most people of my generation (who did not pursue the hierarchically superior science studies and became doctors, engineers) I became a journalist. Actually, at the age of 24 or so I fully entered the profession. I had been writing for various papers for years, and working as a part-timer, district reporter for the Patna edition of The Times of India when I was still in college. I got a job as a staff reporter in the Delhi edition of The Times of India. And passed a short stint there as a staff reporter. By then I was almost 30 and had realised that I needed to study more, escape the daily drudgery of journalism which was not conducive to thinking or reading and experience the wider world. So at the ripe old age of 30, I decided to pursue higher studies—PhD—and travelled to Copenhagen, Denmark. And that has been my country from then on. As a writer I am often asked my opinion on several matters. To one question of home I quote a cliché; home is where the heart is. And in some ways, I carry my home in my mind. I guess if India is home, so is Denmark. My life is markedly different because after spending some years in the big cities (Delhi, Copenhagen) I find myself again happily settled in a small Danish town. There is a difference between big and small cities. Both offer different rewards; different frustrations. As a writer, you can only write from life, and there is life everywhere in small towns as well as big cities. But perhaps different kinds of life. I think, these days fiction from small towns is being hugely neglected; we are passing through an overtly big city, cosmopolitan strain in writing and its promotion, at least in English. When people talk of multiculturalism or globalisation they forget that these things exist in very different ways in small towns, whether in Denmark, England or India. This idea made me realise that a lot of writers do not know how complex and mobile small towns can be! Are people same everywhere? Yes and no. One can experience life as various lives. There is no pure and abstract ‘life’ without the greatly impure and concrete diversity of lives. What encourages me to write every day is the fact that some stories have been told too often and some are yet to be told. Then again I don’t know what really makes me take up the pen. I guess I want to talk to people—the 90 percent in the middle, religious or irreligious—who are crushed between ends of any extremism. I am interested in how we narrow down life and love, how we fail to communicate and understand each other; I am interested in what safety means and what danger signifies. I write what I feel driven to write and hope that someone will publish it; apart from that, I live on the margins. And I am content there. That gives me an anonymity and freedom from tags—at least to some extent. Otherwise, life is filled with nonsensical tags—I am almost always described as a ‘westernised Muslim’. There is no Muslim who is not ‘western’ in some ways today—no, not even the radical Islamists, whose very political reactions are determined by western factors. And there is no West without the influence of Islam—from the early Enlightenment downwards. So, as I said I like the anonymity. And prefer to not introduce myself to strangers. And I also have never really believed in political correctness. Political correctness is a comfy middle-class remedy for deeply-ingrained problems and prejudices: racism, sexism or xenophobia do not disappear just because you start avoiding some words. It takes much more than that. I am more interested in laughing at a world that says something and does something else. It is true that a novel is not very politically correct in a narrow sense, but that is because it does not believe in such narrowness; it believes in addressing the diseases, not the symptoms. But I do not just laugh at the world; I also laugh with it. A while ago someone asked me if I worry about the people I write for. Well I believe that as an author I don’t worry about them. But having said that I have a fairly good idea of what kind of reader will get me. My latest offering The Thing About Thugs is a kind of thriller set in Victorian London and featuring Asians and Africans, has just been released in USA and Canada—hopefully it will find its readers in India as well.