To my aaji
Kadhi is one of my favorite staple Indian foods. I remember chilly winter evenings in Chicago when I would only make kadhi and drink 4-5 cups of it. It gave me comfort. I learnt how to make kadhi from my aaji (mother's mother). I would always tell aai, how aaji makes the best kadhi in the world and aai could take tips from her. The honesty of childhood!
Aaji passed away about a month ago. It was not sudden, but it was expected. She was not keeping well for past two years. During every visit I, over the past 6 months, I could see the life waning out of her. But no one wants to prepare for such inevitable. No one wants to lose a part of their childhood.
I spent many summer holidays spending time at my grandmother's. With nothing much to do apart from reading books, I would often poke around in the kitchen. Trying to help her at times or learn things. She would be impressed by this curiosity and teach me things. But only if I behaved. The lady always needed her space. Specially when she was frying something in the kitchen. She considered it a bad omen to have anyone standing in the kitchen behind her, when she was frying things. She would always shoo us away. I used to compulsively annoy her with my presence.
Over the years the house she lived in with my uncles and aunts changed. It was made bigger, with multiple stories added. People changed, they started living and cooking separately. Lives started being better but different.
I am not sure how aaji, even for that matter aajoba (grandfather) took these changes. We always saw them being happy and contented. Their lives had always been shared. With big extended families. The idea of privacy and separate rooms must have been strange to them. But they accepted it gladly. That's what I feel.
Because, whenever I visited aaji would still cook things for me. Over one such summer after my 10th standard examination, I told her I wanted to learn how to make chapatis. Aaji with all her heart taught me the magic was in the dough. Always. The better you knead it the better your chapatis would turn out to be. She would say, dont put pressure at the center while rolling the chapatis. Try to put it uniformly. And then the crucial part, how to roast them. She told me to cook one side longer than the other and roast the other side directly over flame.
My aaji was the most curious person from her generation who I knew. She would read entire newspaper. Solve the puzzles and crosswords. Keep them ready for me when I asked for some entertainment. Tell us random bedtime stories. Let us pull her leg when we teased her how handsome her husband was. Listen to my translated version of harry potter.
These are my vivid memories of my aaji. Taking pride in my sillier achievements of roasting a chapati perfectly. Or hearing from aai about my kadhi adventures away from home. I am sure every grandparent must do the same.
Now we have a maid who makes chapatis at home. So I make chapatis rarely. I was telling a friend how aaji taught me the art and smiling. I am sure aaji must be proud. Still.
Aaji passed away about a month ago. It was not sudden, but it was expected. She was not keeping well for past two years. During every visit I, over the past 6 months, I could see the life waning out of her. But no one wants to prepare for such inevitable. No one wants to lose a part of their childhood.
I spent many summer holidays spending time at my grandmother's. With nothing much to do apart from reading books, I would often poke around in the kitchen. Trying to help her at times or learn things. She would be impressed by this curiosity and teach me things. But only if I behaved. The lady always needed her space. Specially when she was frying something in the kitchen. She considered it a bad omen to have anyone standing in the kitchen behind her, when she was frying things. She would always shoo us away. I used to compulsively annoy her with my presence.
Over the years the house she lived in with my uncles and aunts changed. It was made bigger, with multiple stories added. People changed, they started living and cooking separately. Lives started being better but different.
I am not sure how aaji, even for that matter aajoba (grandfather) took these changes. We always saw them being happy and contented. Their lives had always been shared. With big extended families. The idea of privacy and separate rooms must have been strange to them. But they accepted it gladly. That's what I feel.
Because, whenever I visited aaji would still cook things for me. Over one such summer after my 10th standard examination, I told her I wanted to learn how to make chapatis. Aaji with all her heart taught me the magic was in the dough. Always. The better you knead it the better your chapatis would turn out to be. She would say, dont put pressure at the center while rolling the chapatis. Try to put it uniformly. And then the crucial part, how to roast them. She told me to cook one side longer than the other and roast the other side directly over flame.
My aaji was the most curious person from her generation who I knew. She would read entire newspaper. Solve the puzzles and crosswords. Keep them ready for me when I asked for some entertainment. Tell us random bedtime stories. Let us pull her leg when we teased her how handsome her husband was. Listen to my translated version of harry potter.
These are my vivid memories of my aaji. Taking pride in my sillier achievements of roasting a chapati perfectly. Or hearing from aai about my kadhi adventures away from home. I am sure every grandparent must do the same.
Now we have a maid who makes chapatis at home. So I make chapatis rarely. I was telling a friend how aaji taught me the art and smiling. I am sure aaji must be proud. Still.