�How much chicken have you bought,� asks Vijaypat Singhania, chairman of Raymonds, the multi-crore turnover suiting company, of his Man Friday, Amarjeet Singh Mali, in the tasteful kitchen of his plush London house. �Ek kilo, Sir,� replies soft-spoken, tough looking Amarjeet. �Kilo-vilo, I don�t understand � show me!�

Well. It was a vital question, for Mr Singhania was counting his onions. He was deciding the exact quantity he�d need for the Chicken Masala he was about to cook for me. And I must say he did a marvellous job of lunch. If I didn�t actually witness it first hand I�d never believe he was so adept. Here then is how it went. The complete details.

Vijaypat Singhania I�d heard liked to cook. When I�d asked him so on one of his numerous visits to Bombay where he lived full time until recently, in a multi-storeyed apartment building all his own, he dismissed it off with, �Yes, yes, but not in Bombay, I cook in London, when you come there I�ll cook.�

So naturally when I was in London, I remembered and connected with him. I suspect he was amused that I should persevere, but very spontaneously fixed a time for the next day, discussed what he would cook and gave me directions to his house in upscale Hampstead where the likes of the Sultan of Brunei also reside when in town.

I don�t know why I was under the impression that Mr. Vijaypat Singhania, like his heir and successor Gautam, is a hardcore vegetarian. Far from it. It started with a chance eating of fish fingers in Calcutta some years ago and after that he was hooked. He loves Pomfret and Caviar. And Gushtaba. Rolling his eyes heavenwards he said he was dreaming of eating some good Kashmiri food soon. Now that�s as non-vegetarian as one can get. We all know what Kashmiri cuisine is like.

But coming back to the cooking, Mr. Singhania very confidently walked into his kitchen, slipped on his royal-looking, dark green, especially monogrammed (courtesy Oberoi) apron and turned around to ask Amarjeet that earlier question regarding the chicken. Amarjeet is chauffeur-cum- house-manager-cum-sous chef-cum minder of his numerous grandchildren when they visit him from India. Mr. Singhania calls him the Mother Hen.

Quietly the onions were chopped in a processor, perfect looking boneless chicken cubes laid out along with what I thought was minimalistic masala and assorted spices.

Like a pro, Mr. Singhania got down to the task. With a flourish he poured oil into a large wok let it heat to just the right temperature tossed in the chopped onion and turned around to give me a grin. Pleased as punch already, like he knew how the results would be.

On another burner, in another pan, he got started on the peas and potatoes, a vegetable accompaniment. �I often cook potatoes with the jacket on,� he says. �Tastier,� he explains. �And, since the chicken has masala in it and lots of onions, there�d be none in the veggie,� he carries on, �just some zeera, a pinch of turmeric, chilli, when almost done, I shall add some tomato puree. Fresh, not from a carton.�

I could see perfect harmony in operation. Mother Hen would cut, chop, process, puree, wash, dry, and generally try to keep out of the way. The big man stood over the stove and stirred the onions patiently not once trying to hasten the process. That was very important, he explains, to brown the onions slowly adding salt only at the right time to dehydrate the onions. Too soon could burn the onions and harden them like wood, he says.

Yes, he is a natural cook, though he did learn how to cook when just 12. He mastered his skills, incredibly enough, by making caramel custard everyday for weeks.

Mr. Singhania I am glad to note is a happy cook. He talks, he laughs and jokes, makes you laugh, munches cashewnuts and goes along. No, he doesn�t follow recipes from books, never measures or weighs things. He is from the andazah gharana. Even the salt he kind of pours into the wok (for 3 seconds, I counted). And to keep himself cheerful he normally drinks beer whilst cooking. It was rather simple, his chicken masala, I thought, and it wasn�t really masala chicken as we know it either. Lots of brown onions, some full spices, boneless chicken, very little ginger paste, a decent amount of garlic paste and voila! There it was. The complete meal ready in 35 minutes. Simultaneously, rice had been boiled and pre-prepared parathas roasted on the tawa in butter and the table was set.

Give it another name I suggested, Chicken Masala is not appropriate and so boring. �Chicken Hampstead,� says Mother Hen, �Jangli Murga,� says a grandson. �Chicken Aishwarya,� says Vijaypat Singhania with a twinkle in his eyes. �Why,� I ask. �I adore her,� he replies simply. �Her and all of Bollywood,� he confesses. �That�s why you find me at the local gym everyday. I want a body like Hritik Roshan,� he tells me seriously Do I believe him? Do you!!