<p>At the end of a quiet road diagonally opposite the T-intersection, lives my aunt, Perriamma, but, I shorten it to Perry, and when she’s excessively adorable, it’s Perrykins! <br /><br /></p>.<p>Her cottage stands in the midst of a verdant garden, with an overly large jackfruit tree, the boon and bane of her life; happily sharing the booty with relatives and friends and shooing away urchins who steal the garden tap along with the fruits.<br /><br />She lived an independent life, now at 90, her grandchildren are persuading her to live with them. She appears to relent, though the decision is still uncertain; she loves her independence! Why not? She has a perfectly running house, a reliable cook who is earnest at his job! And I live a short distance away for all else. <br /><br />Perry for all her generosity is careful about her things as are people of her times and well equipped with kitchenware. My mother and she being sisters often shared many things and the stuff would go back and forth between houses.<br /><br /> One particular pot made of brass (bell metal) that which my aunt loaned was singularly the most important and ceremonious one. Ceremonious because it needed to be maintained with buffing and seasoned to be cooked in. This was often repeated and a special man appointed to treat the vessel. <br /><br />Mother’s kitchen and her cook Shankara were famed for the biryani they produced. It’s no exaggeration if I said a considerable section of the city looked forward to it. The pot has fed the very important personalities, from famous historians to thinkers, IAS officers to chief secretaries, officials to the highest ranks of the police force, chief editors to newspaper barons and many business heads. <br /><br />Father was very well placed and needed no favours, but loved gathering people around and mother was indulgent of him. So all these people gathered in free spirit, in pure elitism of no favours asked, a purity of ranking together. These gatherings saw the powerful in deep discussions. Often immeasurable knowledge of the workings of their office would pour through; it was a great learning experience. <br /><br />The richness of great minds, officers in sincere pursuit, ministers of integrity, historians and musicians who added to the cultural heritage of India, the media that watched the turn of events without bias.<br /><br /> There was a certain charm about being in the midst of people who were shaping the world around us. But suddenly that breed petered out to the less committed. Father removed himself from hosting these gatherings and the pot was forgotten. Then suddenly Perry hands me the pot reminding me of the days when great minds ate out of its making; she hands it to me for keeps. She orders her cook to put it into the boot of my car.<br /><br />I ride home, thinking of the IGP who made many changes to improve the living conditions of the constables during his term. The chief editor whose editorials had far reaching effects, the commissioner who suppressed the ‘Down with Hindi’ movements…many others. This pot that was riding with me in the boot, is a good load of history!</p>
<p>At the end of a quiet road diagonally opposite the T-intersection, lives my aunt, Perriamma, but, I shorten it to Perry, and when she’s excessively adorable, it’s Perrykins! <br /><br /></p>.<p>Her cottage stands in the midst of a verdant garden, with an overly large jackfruit tree, the boon and bane of her life; happily sharing the booty with relatives and friends and shooing away urchins who steal the garden tap along with the fruits.<br /><br />She lived an independent life, now at 90, her grandchildren are persuading her to live with them. She appears to relent, though the decision is still uncertain; she loves her independence! Why not? She has a perfectly running house, a reliable cook who is earnest at his job! And I live a short distance away for all else. <br /><br />Perry for all her generosity is careful about her things as are people of her times and well equipped with kitchenware. My mother and she being sisters often shared many things and the stuff would go back and forth between houses.<br /><br /> One particular pot made of brass (bell metal) that which my aunt loaned was singularly the most important and ceremonious one. Ceremonious because it needed to be maintained with buffing and seasoned to be cooked in. This was often repeated and a special man appointed to treat the vessel. <br /><br />Mother’s kitchen and her cook Shankara were famed for the biryani they produced. It’s no exaggeration if I said a considerable section of the city looked forward to it. The pot has fed the very important personalities, from famous historians to thinkers, IAS officers to chief secretaries, officials to the highest ranks of the police force, chief editors to newspaper barons and many business heads. <br /><br />Father was very well placed and needed no favours, but loved gathering people around and mother was indulgent of him. So all these people gathered in free spirit, in pure elitism of no favours asked, a purity of ranking together. These gatherings saw the powerful in deep discussions. Often immeasurable knowledge of the workings of their office would pour through; it was a great learning experience. <br /><br />The richness of great minds, officers in sincere pursuit, ministers of integrity, historians and musicians who added to the cultural heritage of India, the media that watched the turn of events without bias.<br /><br /> There was a certain charm about being in the midst of people who were shaping the world around us. But suddenly that breed petered out to the less committed. Father removed himself from hosting these gatherings and the pot was forgotten. Then suddenly Perry hands me the pot reminding me of the days when great minds ate out of its making; she hands it to me for keeps. She orders her cook to put it into the boot of my car.<br /><br />I ride home, thinking of the IGP who made many changes to improve the living conditions of the constables during his term. The chief editor whose editorials had far reaching effects, the commissioner who suppressed the ‘Down with Hindi’ movements…many others. This pot that was riding with me in the boot, is a good load of history!</p>
