menonsmusings20

Being back in rainy Kerala, I feel nostalgic about Amma's cooking. She would make here concoctions out of a confusion of raw and ripe fruits, an assortment of vegetables, and garam garam Indian spice along with all season coconut gratings, which would find its way into all sorts of Kerala cooking, either as such or ground into a paste with a wide variety of taste makers. She would serve us with hot hot idlies ( fashionably pronounced Italies), steamed rice cakes sprinkled with inevitable coconut gratings with equally steaming black gram curry, puri-potato etc for breakfast; a sumptuous and spicy lunch with inescapable rice and pappads; a high tea with as much tasty spread as you can think of; and a mouth watering dinner to boot. No wonder all of grew fat on her love!

I remember her soft and all caring. I remember her feeding us rice. She would mash all the ingredients together, kneed it, work on it with such frenzy until it became a juicy paste, which we used to slurp up. Something in her hand made it all the more tastier. Her perseverance knew no bounds. Although bronchial asthma made her bent, it couldn't bend her spirits. She doggedly refused to be intimidated by the nasty disease instead confronted the difficult chores with a smiling countenance. She lived to make feasty meals and serve to a large crowd. She had such good hands. Even if she made a swift meal it would taste like a gourmet's delight! Alas, fate stole her away from us. It was abrupt and merciless. I feel a vacuum, which I can never really fill. Words become futile to convey my longing for mom. I love my mom.