NaBloPoMo 2019: Day 4: Upma? No Upama!

Reading my blog series about Amma, my cousin’s wife Kanaka replied to me, saying,

“I remember coming to your house most of the weekends with my kids. She used to give something or the other to eat.”

Knowing Amma, I’d say “give something to eat” is an understatement – “force to at least taste a little” was more like it! 

And once you had taken a tiny bite, you’d find your hand involuntarily kept dipping into the plate until it was empty! My colleague who tasted Amma’s Gokulashthami goodies had quipped, “This chakli is like they say in the Lays advertisement – No one can eat just one!”

Amma was a great cook and had that special touch that converted the simplest of items into mouth-watering dishes. I remember the first time my to-be-husband-and-in-laws came to our place to finalize the engagement plans. They were blown away by Amma’s signature dish. No, it wasn’t any exotic food – it was just the humble plain rava upma that many people deride as “concrete”, which, having been prepared by Amma’s hands, had acquired an unimaginably divine taste.

The food Amma cooked was always tasty. Had someone tried validation of her food, she’d have scored a perfect 10 for accuracy, precision, ruggedness, and robustness – every time she made an item, it had exactly the same perfect taste, whether she cooked for her family, or in larger quantities, because relatives or guests were coming home.

Amma’s kitchen always had those huge brass, hindalium and steel dabbas, and they were like a treasure trove of some or the other sweets and savories. 

Gokulashthami used to be our favourite festival because Amma would make at least 12 to 15 different items, each tasting better than the other. Today, when I struggle to make about just 6 of them, I can’t help but wonder where Amma got the energy to do so much work all alone!

We kids would realize Gokulasthami was coming because we’d see the rice washed and spread out to dry on mats covered with Appa’s old panches (dhotis). Amma would take the items to the mill for grinding, bring the powders home, sieve them, and store them carefully. When the festival was just two days away, our home would be filled with the aroma and gurgling of butter melting into ghee, and the jaggery water bubbling into a thick gooey paste, and the sizzling of the oil as it let Amma’s expert hands turn the milled powders into perfect golden-yellow chaklis and tengols and kodbades. 

Gokulashthami tindis tied in front of Lord Krishna along with fruits

Amma knew each child's favourite dishes, and in her typical impartial spirit, she would cook them all with equal frequency. And since you knew your favourite would come in its turn, none of us ever made a fuss about eating something that we may have liked a little less. 

Amma never pampered us by cooking something separately for someone – you had to eat what was made that day, and she wasn’t unduly bothered if you ate a little less because you didn’t like it. 

She’d bend her own rules a little once in a way, though. For chapati in the lunch box, Bhargavi got chutney podi and butter mixed in, while Vatsala got chutney podi with a ripe banana mixed in. (Or vice versa maybe). In case you’re surprised at these unheard-of combinations, well, that’s just another thing Amma was good at – improvisation and trying and learning new things. More about that tomorrow!