Mother’s guide to independence

RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE

The suite of the Johns Hopkins hospital residence hall had three of us, all from three different countries. One of us couldn’t cook, having had no experience back home. The food that she prepared invariably found its way into the garbage bin. She expected us to share with her whatever we prepared. We did so reluctantly, as it was her TV that we watched in the common lounge.

The inability to cook puts one at the mercy of others. I was thankful that mother had initiated us into domestic duties from an early age, from teaching us the right way to hold the broom and to hand-wash clothes, from buying and chopping vegetables to getting the firewood burning, we knew it all. While the elders made chappatis, a mini rolling pin was kept aside for children’s use. Gradually what we rolled out met mother’s specifications. During her outstation visits, I put into practice what I had learnt. Father shifted from the dining table to the kitchen floor to eat my hot chappatis. Ever the loyal supporter of my culinary endeavours, he said they were like biscuits and asked for more.

During my stay in the US as a student, I found that preparing Indian food was no big deal. Spices were available in powder form, as were cut and cleaned vegetables. Improvising with local brands opened opportunities for preparing items such as gulab jamoon. Invited to Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners, I served these items to the appreciation of my American hosts. At parties, the puffed puris always stole the show.

When I returned to India, I was back on my mother’s team, travelling from Mysore for festivals to prepare specific delicacies associated with them. Mother instinctively added the right amount of the various ingredients. Her tools for testing the consistency of the kajjaya batter were her thumb and forefinger. The same tools tested the smoothness of the masala paste prepared on the grinding stone. Mother also made the sambar and rasam masalas from scratch, an annual ritual. With her ‘hastaguna’ built in, her preparations were not replicable.

Mother recalled that when grandmother asked her to come to the kitchen and learn to cook, grandfather would say dismissively, “What is there to learn? Everyone knows that rice and dal can’t be eaten raw and have to be cooked.” Contrary to grandfather’s stand, mother had us develop independence in performing household chores. She led by example. I wonder if she had a premonition about the pandemic lockdowns!