There are many things that I’ve never learnt. Occasionally, one regrets not having done so. There is one that is a bit of a handicap — I can’t drive. That’s not to say that I haven’t tried. Every time I sat behind the wheel, the limited cells in my brain would freeze. They jammed faster than one could cry: “Brake!”, or worse: “Accelerate!” The other thing that I can’t do is swim. Now, that may be put down to growing in the hills where my school did have a swimming pool, but given the town’s water shortages at the time, this was rarely filled. There was one time that it was. To celebrate the moment, a fine fellow pushed me in. A head-bang on the bottom of the pool and a minor blackout conspired to put me off swimming — and much of anything that has to do with water. Moving to the plains, with the able assistance of a friend, I learnt how to cycle. Well, so much for what one can or cannot do. And while we are it, one can’t teach an old dog new tricks.Some years back, I was alone in the hills and as luck or a winter chill-wind would have it, I found myself without that middle class crutch of domestic help. I’m okay with cleaning and have been told that the broom, duster and vacuum cleaner are extensions to my body. But then came the issue of food. I could clean, but who would cook? After a few days of eating out or bringing food home, the stomach decided that enough was enough. The tastebuds began recoiling at the thought of bazaar food. It was time to take a look at all the unused cookbooks that hung around the house. With covers and pictures that could entice the pickiest of eaters, all they seemed to do was gather dust and fumes from the kitchen.The mouth-watering recipes held therein rarely transformed into food on the table. In that collection quietly sat what was to become my saviour in the kitchen. Now, with the culinary equivalent of trumpets blaring and VIP-car sirens screaming, a rescuer and deliverer arrived in print. [Please keep in mind that this was long before wonderful recipes that are (im)possible to replicate at home were easily available on YouTube]. Appropriately titled as ‘The Foolproof Cookbook for Brides, Bachelors and Those Who Hate Cooking’, this was a lifesaver and had come as one of the free books when I’d joined a book club. Should the author, Rohini Singh, chance upon these lines, may I say: “Thank you!”The ice broken, the tawa heated, the pressure cooker timing mastered, here began my journey into the esoteric world inhabited by chefs and other great souls. With every dollop of ghee, and every turn of the ladle, I lauded myself and all the while, the fast-growing paunch appreciated the lauding.I could now cook dals, meats and vegetables. That the flavours are appreciated only by me and that the chapattis resemble maps of our neighbouring countries, is quite another matter — and is one that we shall not go into at the moment.Over the years, there have been moments where one was imparted certain skills that were seemingly useless, but have come in handy. Many of these were learnt when we were young. Several came from the time when we went camping, or were a part of Boy Scouts. We learnt ways of tying assorted knots — and it’s after seeing some of these new reels on Instagram, that one realises that the sailors’ knots seem to have moved on to elegant ways of tying flower bouquets and gifts. Some basic knowledge of first-aid and essential home repairs also came from that time.One of the many memories that remains from those days is some two dozen of us stirring a huge pot of mutter-aloo (peas-potatoes) and chanting: “Mutter-mutter said the aloo.” Apart from the business of knotting oneself and using a screwdriver, one of the ‘survival skills’ imparted at that time was of what one could eat from the wild. What berries were edible and which were not. This was the rhyme we learnt:“White and yellow,Will kill a fellow;Purple or blue,Good for you;Red, could be good,Could leave you dead.”Apart from chomping away at the easily recognisable wild raspberries and the tasteless tiny strawberries, one hasn’t really foraged in the forests. An urban upbringing does that. So many things that one should have been taught in school or later, seem missing. Unlearnt skills like driving or swimming may be very well, but there are several that one can think of that could stand every person in good stead. Years after one had been taught to tie a tourniquet, it was a rail accident where some of those first-aid lessons came handy. Seat covers served as temporary bandages.Good times and bad times come to all of us. Those who have the skills that create the strength to weather the bad times, somehow manage to carry on.— The writer is an author based in Shimla