"ouch! Its spicy" my
daughter complained with tears flooding her eyes and juices flooding her mouth
as she tried the new cuisine.
"Mom! Make it sweeter"
my son implored holding out a tin of jiggery.
"Nah! Dad is a diabetic.
I'll make it tangy" I announced tersely adding liberal amounts of tamarind
juice.
"Woman! which school did u
go to? you seem not to have any idea how bitter it is and yet you call it
sour?" my husband commented.
"But I haven't added much of
the Neem inflorescence which is 'The key' ingredient" I objected without
picking my nerves at the insult. "By the way didn’t your school teach of
the vermicidal effects of Neem?" I added in a false sweet voice.
"There should have been more
nectar in the dish than in your sarcasm" he swiftly emptied the bottle of
the honey.
"Now that’s a disaster"
hassled to the core, I necked them out of the kitchen crying "too many
cooks spoil the broth"
"But mom. I boasted you are
the best chef on the planet when I invited my friends. Please live up to the reputation"
my son pleaded through the hinges of the closed door.
"I'm not here to make a
fruit salad. Its Ugadi pachadi (pickle)
and one can't ignore the traditional recipe" I retorted without turning
back. I leaned on the kitchen counter as I recollected my grandmother's secret
recipe.
* * * *
"Ammu! Ugadi marks the
beginning of the Telugu calendar. It falls on a chaitra sudda padyami day when
the star Aswini takes precidence" she explained elaborately. "It's our belief that what goes around
this day, comes around this year. so my child! Make sure you live the best out
of this day".
"I'll ingrain it in my mind
Ammamma (maternal grandmother) but serve me more of thet delicious Ugadi
pachadi" I chirped like the koko bird preched on the branches of the
florid neem tree.
"Here you go" she added
generous amounts of the sweet-sour-chilli-bitter pickle to my cup.
"ummmmmmmmm" I groaned
relishing it. My nose crinkled and the corners of my eyes creased with pleasure
lines as I gorged on the tangy bits of raw mango bated in the tamarind-honey
syrup.
"Like it?" she asked
affectionately stroking the side of my cheek.
"Finger licking good but for
those Neem flowers" I complained coyly. "Why don’t you alter the recipe?" I suggested
wryly.
"well! If you keenly decipher
, there is a good lot of philosophy in it. It is a shadruchi pakam. There are 6
tastes in it. Sweet symbolizes love & affection. Salt signifies the
strength of victory. Sour for excitement. Umami for jealousy. Chilly for the
red-hot-temper and the bitter neems portray the bitterness of life" she
added knowledgably.
"Yea! I understand but why
don't we choose only happiness?" I
persisted.
"I wish we could"
Ammamma said with a long sigh "but one can appreciate the light only when
he suffered the dark. Love attracts hurt. victory attracts jealousy. They are
simply complimentary to each other. One should learn to hit a balance - The
state of Stitapragnata" she talked in jargon. " Never pray not to
have troubles Ammu. Pray for the strength to fight them. Embrace whatever comes
your way and you'll be happy forever" she concluded to a huge round of
applause from her only audience.
* * * *
Falling back to the present day, I
thought "I'll bring up my
children to the state of stitapragnata ammamma. I promise. How I wish they are
blessed with all the happiness of this world!" That instant I realized my
grandmother wished me the same yet she taught me to be prepared to face the
challenges fate throws at our face.
Right now the challenge poking me
right in the eye is my son's prove-ur-culinary-expertise. With no second
thought I folded my sleeves to quench the raving appetites of those 10+
teenagers my son invited home, with rasmalai's and samosas.
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