Kitchen Musings!!!
What with the lockdown, the time spent alone in the kitchen has increased many folds. Most of the jobs in the kitchen are quite mundane. Once you figure out what to cook, the next steps are quite predictable. Out of habit you know how, to what size the onion has to be cut and how much and what vegetable you need to chop, so on and so forth. Part of your mind goes into an automation mode ( here I see people who are deep into mindfulness, lifting their finger to make a point). The other half of your mind keeps drifting in and out of different spaces and time. And the musings lead to…
The other day I was cutting some Cantaloupes, the unique smell transported me to my childhood and the picture of my dad floated in. It felt so real and true, as if I was experiencing the moment again. It was Appa’s job to cut fruits after dinner for the family, something he loved to do. He knew that I hated the smell of musk melon, so he would sprinkle sugar and cardamom on it and serve it to me. He wanted me to acquire a taste for it. But the melons those days were quite bland. Appa had tasted juicy melons during his trips abroad and wanted to share that experience with us. Many years later I developed a taste for Cantaloupes when we were in Ghaziabad. He was the one who re-introduced me to musk melons all over when I became an adult and had a child of my own. Now it is my favourite fruit.
I don’t know, presently, if its due to the relaxed nature of the mind, memories seem to be flooding my senses. I just pulled out the drawer to take out a cup, and my eyes fell on a tall and a rather oversized tumbler ( Glass, popularly called tumbler in tambram families ). At the risk of sounding and behaving like Mungeri Lal from ‘Mungeri lal ke haseen sapne’, I travel back in time. That tall glass belonged to my mother in law, and she would have her coffee or milk or water, only in that tumbler. No one would dare touch it. The memories swung me gently to the countless evenings of sitting on the cement bench on the porch of our house, drinking hot filter coffee, she in her exclusive large tumbler and me in my R K Narayan common man small tumbler. Those were beautiful days spent as a young bride getting inducted to the family ways and making inroads into family gossip. All this memory, in a fraction of second, of opening and closing the drawer to take out a cup.
The chuck chuck chuck sound of a bird akin to a woodpecker goes on relentlessly in the mornings. I don’t remember hearing it earlier as I used to hurriedly enter the kitchen, be the head chef, and get out leaving the other chores to my woman friday. But now, I can hear it loud and clear, while rolling out rotis or chopping veggies. Instantly, mental images magically appear ; the smoky haze rising up early in the morning, from the pile of leaves burnt by the sweeper and shafts of gentle sun rays filtering through the smoke. The location , clear in my mind, my uncle’s house in Zaveri Bhavan building , Vile Parle, where I spent many days of my summer vacations with cousins. While the rays presented the visual treat, the ancestor of the chuck chuck chuck bird would present her rhythmic beat. And my mind has recorded the song with the whole glorious visual of the filtered sunrays through the smoke, with the smell of burnt leaves to add to the effect.
As I thought about these memories and thoughts, it occurred to me that our senses help create and recreate these beautiful or unpleasant memories. And during bleak times like now, good and bad memories come to your rescue. Some memories caution you against doing certain things, some give you ideas to solve new problems and yet some, bring about a happy fuzzy feel to your mind and helps you go about doing your mundane chores with a spring in your step.
The music app on the phone belts out ” Tum aagaye ho noor aa gaya hai,”!!! Memories thou art a saviour!
Poesy 