Kishore Singh: Appetite for education

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Now that it's exam time with both children sitting for their pre-pre-board papers, they're at home a great deal more than usual. Any other time, we would have been overjoyed at the prospect of having them around "" what with their huge circle of friends, parties, movies and tuition, they're hardly home any more "" but swotting over books has given them an appetite that's difficult to cope with.

At any given time of day (or night, since they do a considerable bit of their studies then), they're either eating, or drinking, or eating some more. "Is there nothing to eat in this house?" says our crestfallen son, eyeing a table full of very eatable things that he's loaded the dining table with. "Have a tuna fish sandwich," advises my wife. "Nah!" he protests. "Should I heat up the biryani?" asks the cook. "Nah," says my daughter. "How about I make you a ham omelette?" I suggest. "Nah," they chorus together.

He wants hot coffee; she wants it cold. They ask for soup, and when it's made, they've decided some old-fashioned mutton-curry is in order. They phone in for pastries from the neighbourhood store and tandoori chicken from the barbecue takeaway. The ice-cream vendor delivers a four-litre pack of vanilla ice-cream, but they wanted chocolate. At the end, they settle down with bowls of Maggi noodles "" but are hungry again a half-hour later.

"You must have fruit," my wife recommends by way of healthy eating. "Nah," says my daughter. "I'll make you rasam," says the cook. "Nah," says my son in horror. "I'll organise some fried fish," I urge. "Nah!" they echo simultaneously.

So, even as apples rot in the fridge, packets of chips and biscuits and half-eaten sandwiches lie strewn around. Cheese moulds on the shelf and salami curls up and turns green from lack of attention. Boxes of chocolate are discarded because they aren't "dark" enough or "sweet" enough or "chocolatety" enough. They ring Dominos for pizzas that turn out to be chewy; and why can't they have goeey cake with icing whenever they want "" they're studying for their exams, aren't they?

"Eat some almonds," coaxes my wife. "Nah," says my son. "Masala dosa," tempts the cook; "or hot aloo-parathas?" "Nah," shrugs my daughter. "I could do you pork chops," I try, usually a family favourite. "Nah," they shout together, so that's that.

But they have strange cravings. In the middle of the night, my daughter will ask for nachos or papri or even good old potato chips, whatever's available, with jalapeno preserve (as a substitute for green chilli pickle, which she managed to finish the previous night). My son will demand a club sandwich with layers of peanut butter and tomato ketchup and chocolate paste "" eaten together!

The tougher the studies get, the more it brings out their culinary skills. My daughter will make peanut candy instead of studying science. My son will attempt bread pudding when he should be studying the Malthusian theory. They'll even collaborate on cooking pasta when, just a few days ago, they had said they didn't know how to light the stove, let alone make their parents a pot of tea.

But they'd eaten or at least wasted enough food to have earned our collective ire. "I'd like some spicy pao-bhaji," my daughter asked the cook this morning. "Nah," said the cook, "I'm too busy." "Mom," pleaded my son, "can you make us some cheesecake for later tonight?" "Nah," retorted my wife, "make it yourself; I'll give you the recipe." "Popsie," the kids wheedled, "can you pick up some chicken sandwiches from Wenger's on your way back from work?" "Nah," I said, "I'm off to a party." Guess they'll have to settle for plain dal-roti instead.