Column | When spicy potatoes ‘trumped’ Trump

The connection between an uninvited television set, a loud politician, and a humble side dish

In a conflict torn place called Kashmir, a village rests quietly amidst the mountains, the dense forests and the abundant fruit orchards. The village is of no consequence to anyone except those who reside in it. The inhabitants have led simple lives and most have very successfully tried to ignore the world at large, but nothing lasts forever, especially peace.

One of the inhabitants of this idyllic village is Tahira, my Phuphee, a woman now entering her 70s. When the rest of the world around her moved to new rhythms set by modern technology, TikTok and Instagram, she continued to follow the rhythms her ancestors had followed — and allowed her life to be dictated by the changing of the seasons, the phases of the moon, and the migratory patterns of the birds. Even today, she can predict the coming weather exactly like her forefathers did, simply by looking up at the sky.

Her life had remained largely untouched until the arrival of a television set in their home almost a decade ago, brought by her husband, my uncle. As soon as it was installed, the quiet stillness that had existed in Phuphee’s house vanished. In the mornings when he would watch the news, it would sound like the birds outside were being physically strangled by the news readers who would shout at the top of their voice as if the news they were delivering would somehow become less important if they chose to speak it rather than shout it.

For the longest time Phuphee tolerated it and said nothing. She had this belief that when people do stupid things you should give them ample opportunity to figure it out for themselves, but she would always add ‘except for when it is a man doing something stupid, then you had better prepare yourself’. So, like the patient woman that she was, she waited for my uncle to realise that the television set was a mistake and he being a man, realisations were clearly not important.

I sincerely believe that Phuphee would have put up with the television set a little longer had it not been for the arrival of a very loud mouthed American called Donald Trump who found his way into the quiet space of her home so that along with the rest of the world, she too lost her peace of mind. This happened, of course, around the time of the tumultuous American elections. Now, Phuphee was a woman with a strong constitution, some would say stronger than America’s and she had had her share of men shouting at her, but that particular week had been very difficult for her and her patience and nerves had both been sorely tested.

She had to cast out a very stubborn jinn (spirit) from an elderly lady in a neighbouring village, bless a kitchen garden in her own village, and counsel a stubborn cow into giving milk again. It was at the end of this difficult week that Phuphee was first introduced to Trump, or at least to him shouting something very loudly into a number of microphones. She was sitting in her kitchen peeling potatoes to make gande ti aalve (onions with potatoes). She often made this when she had had a difficult time at work and her capacity to decide what to feed her family for dinner had been compromised by decision fatigue.

When she first heard Trump screaming, she asked my uncle why this man had to shout despite the obvious presence of microphones. Does he think everyone is deaf? My uncle mumbled something which too was drowned by the shouts of Trump.