Master Chef auditions anyone?
Thanks to my cousin Aarunima, I landed up at the venue for the Master Chef auditions in Bangalore. Nothing could have really got me there if it wasn't for her going alone. Located in a remote corner of Bangalore, far, far away from the madding crowd ... ummm that's not really true. Because the madding crowd landed up at that remote corner of Bangalore, from all sorts of remote corners of Karnataka. What a mela it was and a fun-filled mela it would have been, was it not for the pathetic organization of an event that was bound to pull huge crowds ... more on that later.
So here I was, attending my first ever audition for anything. And attending as an attendant to my hugely talented cousin, not as a participant. Naah, cooking competitions ain't for me. I'm just not that interested in cooking currently. That's her below.
That's when it struck me. These auditions were like the Mumbai local trains. Levellers of the highest kind. It didn't matter whether someone got off an audi or took a local bus to get to the location. It didn't matter whether they worked as maids or managers. It didn't matter if they were carrying Gucci or plastic thaelas, if they were wearing diamonds or imitation or nothing at all. What counted was how inspiring their dish looked, how authentic or exciting it tasted and how they spoke. Just like the local trains in Mumbai - it matters not where the people come from and where they are going. They are all on the same train because that is the fastest way to get around the city.
So there they were - women of all sorts, shapes, backgrounds, religions, ethnicity. Some with kids, some with kids and husbands, the husbands with their laptops in tow. Dressed in burkhas and short skirts - both designer in some cases. Abayas and scarves. In fuschia pinks and sunshine yellows. Slim girls in fitting jeans with knee high boots and fat aunties with their sunglasses perched on their foreheads. Some young women who could be plugged in instead of the latest bahu in the latest Ekta Kapoor serial. And some aunties who could similarly be substituted for the bahu's mom-in-law. Some happy-go-lucky minglers striking up conversations with other participants, criticizing the pathetic organization of the production team. Some snooty onlookers sitting in their corners. Some quiet observers and some snoozers. All with their food baskets, serving trays and plated food - waiting for their numbers to be called, ready to go and floor the judges with their culinary skills. Here are some pics that I took discreetly.
But that was not to be so soon. The same number had been issued to multiple participants. There was no order in which the numbers were being called. Participants who had registered on the website had been given appointments starting 8 in the morning. At 1, when I was all set to leave, they still had no clue about when their turn would come. They had cooked at 5 in the morning. Their dishes were obviously not as fresh, having been out in the heat since morning. The plating and garnishing was all lost. It was quite a sad state of affairs.
I wanted to get back to Aahaan so I left Aarunima, not knowing whether she would wait for her turn to come or walk off, because it clearly looked like she would get a chance to go in at 6. Well, she did wait till 6:30 when she finally got a window and had quite a dialogue in the interim. What she figured was that it was not all about the food at all! It was more about the personality and the story behind the person. Which is true of most of the reality shows on Indian primetime TV these days. A story that gets the viewers interested is perhaps a bigger criteria for selection than the talent / merit bit of it.
The food bit of it here? So long as the applicant seemed like he / she could cook, I guess they could get in. Hmmm ... interesting. I wonder if Master Chef internationally also has such criteria other than food?
So here I was, attending my first ever audition for anything. And attending as an attendant to my hugely talented cousin, not as a participant. Naah, cooking competitions ain't for me. I'm just not that interested in cooking currently. That's her below.
That's when it struck me. These auditions were like the Mumbai local trains. Levellers of the highest kind. It didn't matter whether someone got off an audi or took a local bus to get to the location. It didn't matter whether they worked as maids or managers. It didn't matter if they were carrying Gucci or plastic thaelas, if they were wearing diamonds or imitation or nothing at all. What counted was how inspiring their dish looked, how authentic or exciting it tasted and how they spoke. Just like the local trains in Mumbai - it matters not where the people come from and where they are going. They are all on the same train because that is the fastest way to get around the city.
So there they were - women of all sorts, shapes, backgrounds, religions, ethnicity. Some with kids, some with kids and husbands, the husbands with their laptops in tow. Dressed in burkhas and short skirts - both designer in some cases. Abayas and scarves. In fuschia pinks and sunshine yellows. Slim girls in fitting jeans with knee high boots and fat aunties with their sunglasses perched on their foreheads. Some young women who could be plugged in instead of the latest bahu in the latest Ekta Kapoor serial. And some aunties who could similarly be substituted for the bahu's mom-in-law. Some happy-go-lucky minglers striking up conversations with other participants, criticizing the pathetic organization of the production team. Some snooty onlookers sitting in their corners. Some quiet observers and some snoozers. All with their food baskets, serving trays and plated food - waiting for their numbers to be called, ready to go and floor the judges with their culinary skills. Here are some pics that I took discreetly.
But that was not to be so soon. The same number had been issued to multiple participants. There was no order in which the numbers were being called. Participants who had registered on the website had been given appointments starting 8 in the morning. At 1, when I was all set to leave, they still had no clue about when their turn would come. They had cooked at 5 in the morning. Their dishes were obviously not as fresh, having been out in the heat since morning. The plating and garnishing was all lost. It was quite a sad state of affairs.
I wanted to get back to Aahaan so I left Aarunima, not knowing whether she would wait for her turn to come or walk off, because it clearly looked like she would get a chance to go in at 6. Well, she did wait till 6:30 when she finally got a window and had quite a dialogue in the interim. What she figured was that it was not all about the food at all! It was more about the personality and the story behind the person. Which is true of most of the reality shows on Indian primetime TV these days. A story that gets the viewers interested is perhaps a bigger criteria for selection than the talent / merit bit of it.
The food bit of it here? So long as the applicant seemed like he / she could cook, I guess they could get in. Hmmm ... interesting. I wonder if Master Chef internationally also has such criteria other than food?
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