PJ (Pickle Jar) arrived at my place during the Navratri season this year. A thoughtful friend had wanted to give a different gift at the haldi - kumkum function - a nice and light weight glass jar! She had packed it in a neat carton. Wow! I thought as the cute piece with a self etched floral pattern emerged from the box. I developed an instant liking to it. I wanted to try my artistic skills and fill that pattern with some glass paint as I gazed at it. But my foodie husband’s remark was – “good for storing pickle naa?” Now, making pickle is one thing I find very boring. All the chopping and fussing and you can’t even taste it immediately, you have to wait till it sets. Much to hubby’s disappointment, I always take my own sweet time replenishing pickle stocks.  Hmm…, I gave a non committal smile and went on with my inspection when to my amazement I felt as though the jar was talking to me! Lifting one eyebrow cunningly it said “pickles … not a bad idea eh?” I peered at it again. Yes, indeed it was talking to me! It also displayed cute facial expressions like the emoticons in instant messaging! It is going to be fun, talking to this inanimate friend, I mused. “But, first I want to paint you”, I said and set him on the study table. As I looked for the glass paint kit, “I will look just as colorful with some pickle inside”, he giggled. “PJ!” I blurted. PJ is a favorite abbreviation at home for ‘poor joke.’ Poor joke … PJ, pickle jar…. also PJ. That is how he came to be called from then onwards, PJ! I dabbed some deep green and red paint into the etched design and lo! there was a rich stained glass look about my new found friend. I proudly placed him at the centre of the dining table and removed the clutter around. “Off she will go flaunting her painting skills now”, my daughter commented to her father who reciprocated it with a wink. Squatting smugly at the table PJ too seemed to be happy with his looks! Early next morning I finished cooking the breakfast and stuff to be packed for the dabbas for husband and daughter all in a hurry and laid them out on the dining table. “Hi PJ”, I said as I glanced at him on the table. “Good morning”, PJ greeted back eagerly but pulled a long face seeing the things around. “Oh don’t make such a mess around me”, he sulked. “Chal hat’, I said feigning anger, “the dining table is my main working space in the mornings. If you don’t like it here, I will have to put you up in the stuffy kitchen” PJ -“Okay… chill, but hope you are making the pickle today” I – “What pickle?” PJ - “Your husband was asking you to make pickle on seeing me, yesterday?” I – “C’mon PJ, he was just casually mentioning.” PJ “But, looks like you have not made any pickle in a long time” he mocked “Yes, so what is the problem?” I snapped and turned away so as not to encourage him to further conversation. I got busy with the routine chores and quite ignored PJ because he was disturbing me with the pickle thing. Then one bright idea struck Why not make my favorite coco burfi and fill up the jar with it? Why only pickles in the pickle jar? I am going to indulge my sweet tooth. Yes, coco burfi it will be, I decided. I quickly checked out for the ingredients and luckily everything was there. I made the sweet, cut out into cubes when set and filled up the jar, all within an hour. Somehow I had to make sure I did it before hubby returned. My intuition was right. Hubby dear walked in from work with the laptop in one hand and a transparent small plastic cover in the other. What I see in it? A dozen odd fresh lemons! “Mooh meetha” I said and dexterously stuffed one piece of the sweet into his mouth before he could say anything. As he was relishing the sweet, I quickly took the plastic cover and shoved it to a remote corner in the refrigerator. “Done,” I said to myself triumphantly as PJ rolled his eyes in admiration at my improvisation. After dinner, as I wrapped up for the day and went to the dining table for a glass of water, PJ chuckled and said, “That was a good one, the way you hid the lemons!” “Well, I just put them inside the fridge” I said, tongue on cheek! “Sure, sure! But poor you! Have to make lemon pickle tomorrow”, he exclaimed. “Well he never asked me to make it really,” I said nonchalantly. “Then you will hear it soon” he said, nodding his head like a sage. At breakfast next morning PJ’s prediction came true. “Hey, did I give you the lemons yesterday” hubby asked, munching his dosa. “Yes, I put them in the fridge,” I said. “Can you make the pickle soon, I am dying for it,” he said. From the corner of my eyes I could see PJ’s devilish grin. I gave PJ a ‘wait and see’ look and said to hubby trying to sound as innocent as possible, “oh you bought them for the pickles…?. But then, I just filled up the jar with the sweets. Shall I make the pickle next week?”  Hubby shrugged and nodded. “Howazzat,” I exclaimed to PJ who preferred to keep a straight face and not react! Soon as husband left for work, the neighbor lady whom we call ‘fatty nuisance’ turned up. “Hi! Let me have a look at your new pickle jar. Your daughter was saying you did some painting on it,” she said and lifted up PJ from the table. “Ooh coco burfi, I just love them! Don’t mind, I am taking some home” she said as she gulped down one and shifted quite a few chunks into a plate lying beside. “Oh no,” I muttered to myself, “greedy woman, she is spoiling my well executed plan.” Released from her clutches, PJ looked at me sympathetically.  “Good work”, the lady said looking at my painting on the jar “but, why have you stored the sweets in it? It is more suited for pickles and chutneys you know. You must store such cubes of sweets in square boxes” she came up with a much needed piece of advice. “Just for a change” I said and tried to give a smile hiding all my anger and disappointment. The lady happily walked off with the plate of sweets, blissfully unaware of the damage she had done.  “What do I do now PJ?” I said, slumping on the dining chair, “She has taken away half the sweets.”  “Serves you right actually for all your laziness,” admonished PJ, “and you coolly tell her “just for a change”! “Why what is wrong in saying that? It was done for a change indeed,” I said. “That’s a lie, a blatant lie” PJ said waving his index finger, “and you can’t lie to me, for I am your jhoota, your conscience.” “You did it to avoid making the pickle,” PJ said resonantly as in some familiar old Hindi films. He was right, but I dodged the topic with a boisterous laugh. Yet another day! I was planning the menu and checking out what was there in the vegetables. My hands automatically reached to the lemon pouch. I selected two juicy fruits and proceeded to the kitchen. “Can one make pickle with just two of them?” It was PJ again, back with his volley of taunts. “Stupid I am going to make lemon rasam, my daughter likes it very much.” “Oh … Okaie, so that’s the story today!” PJ giggled. I simply ignored him and went about the cooking. I had to finish fast. Two of my friends were dropping in for a chat. I made some pakoras for them, freshened up and came and sat in the hall when the bell rang. “It is very hot out today,” said my guests, “please give us some refreshing juice”. “Sure, in five minutes,” I said “please be seated, I will be right back” “Ah! That’s a cute jar,” one friend said looking at PJ “and with a nice design! Where did you buy it?” “A good friend gifted it for Navratri, and I did the painting myself,” I beamed. “Oh lovely,” the other friend said, “and can I have the sweet?” “Definitely and there are some pakoras too,” I said and handed them the sweets and pakoras carefully reserving some burfis for my daughter. Then I went in to the kitchen to make the juice. Fresh juice – the lemons were the obvious choice. I took out another two of them and made a nice tangy concoction with ginger and mint and the guests were too happy to have it. They sat chatting for a while and as they were taking leave, my bai (maid) walked in. “Bai I am very tired, I need to take a nap,” I said, after my friends left. “Will you open the door for my girl when she is back from school?” “Yes akka”, bai said, “but you wanted me to clean the brass lamps today. Can you take them out from the pooja room and also give some tamarind to shine them up?” “Oh, I forgot about that”, I said and brought out the lamps. Then I went to the ice box for two more lemons and gave them to the maid saying “use these instead of tamarind and please don’t disturb for some time.” I knew PJ was watching all this with a disapproving frown. But I would not be bothered. I just wanted to sleep. When I woke up, my daughter was getting ready for her tennis class. “Did you have your milk girlie?” I asked and took out the sweets from the jar and gave her. She took them from me and asked “You finished making the pickle for appa?” “There are hardly six lemons left. What to make of them,” I said, sounding falsely remorseful. Now PJ was cross. “Enough is enough,” he yelled at me, “go and buy some more lemons and make the pickle right now” he demanded, his hands firmly on his waist. In an instant I found myself clutching the purse lying on the side board and rushing out to the nearest vegetable vendor. Like an automaton, I bought the lemons, returned home, obediently made the pickle and filled it up into PJ. Three days later, the pickle was set and I gave a little of it to husband and asked him to taste and see if it had come out well. “Sssssssss…..yummm,” he said licking his finger, “you make it so well, why don’t you make it oftener?” That made my day! I went to PJ and said “Thanks for chiding me, lest I would never have made that pickle. See husband has liked it so much! But I promise, next time I will promptly refill you with a tastier pickle” “Promptly, .. and you?” PJ asked quizzically looking into my eyes. I did not feel ragged this time and did not snap back at him. I only grinned and patted him with gratitude. PJ, my friend and foe!