The Simple Tomato Chutney

The Simple Tomato Chutney 

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'Pound. Pound. Mash it up. Adding sugar isn't a norm but the cooking trend now - everything has sugar. If you must, brown sugar is a better option. Include finely chopped garlic and onion. Add ground chilies, and adjust the spiciness to your liking. Most importantly, the chosen tomatoes should be plumpy, and well-ripened to have a fresh and flavor-filled tomato chutney.

'Understand?', Amma asked me.

'Yup. Got it!'

'Stir slowly, slowly. 'What's the rush?', Amma asked.

'Okay, slowly, slowly', I repeated Amma's words. I was one-pointed focused on the chutney.

'Do we add desiccated coconut or coconut milk?', I asked.

'Not necessary. Now allow it to simmer’.

Amma seldom allowed anyone in the kitchen or taught them in person. She views cooking as a sacred art cum filial piety to the family and the loyal connoisseurs.

Tomato chutney is a family recipe; handed down by her father. My brother and I enjoyed it immensely. It is a well fit for special occasions, any occasions and mostly therapeutic for our stressed souls. 

My second favorite place in the house - the kitchen, is my one-stop point after school. At 23, Amma is still my best friend. The long rectangular green Indian Kajaria ceramic-tiled kitchen cabinet was my chilling zone. Endless stories, events of the day and various childish displays were narrated while she prepared the day’s meals. Amma listened. Nods in between my pauses. Sprinkles questions and prompts to know a little bit more. Every word of mine mattered. She never complained or rushed me to finish my stories. Extraordinary listener, enthusiastic and curious. I think she saw the world through my stories.

'It is a surprise to see you making the tomato chutney, Mythily', Amma asked casually while sipping her hot sweet coffee.

'It's an experimental endeavour', my reply came with pretentious ease. 

'Oh'. 

That was close. What if she sensed my actual motivation? I put aside my panicky thoughts, nervously biting my inner cheek and lips and brushing my hair off my temple. 

'Ah, never do that when you are cooking. Strands may fall into the chutney', Amma pointed out the kitchen SOP.

'Sorry, will be careful next time'.

Why am I so nervous? I am just cooking for another best friend of mine. Erm, yes, my bestie. 

I've never lied to Amma but recently yes - three years now. A secret ingredient to the main course is to be unraveled today. The pot’s heat with the waves of the aromatic spices lingered in the air. Perspiration. 

'Do we need to add cardamom?', I asked to distract my thoughts.

'You may. You could add star anise, cardamom, mustard seeds and cinnamon. These spices need to be sauteed with oil first. I use minimal spices. I like it simple just like your Muthachan (grandfather) taught.' Amma said.

'Oh, simple'. Simple? Nothing is simple anymore. At 24, life presented me with a unique cuisine. A cuisine called Krish. Aphrodisiac.

At 13 years old, Krish and I joined the same high school and became classmates at 16 and campus mates at 20. At 20 he confessed his feelings. Krish persistently coaxed me to declare our relationship to Amma. He lined up the much-anticipated discussion yesterday since he is soon off to the UK. I will miss him but who doesn’t want a successful life partner? 

Krish seems to be taking it in his stride. Hopeful. Probably envisioned a 10-year plan; children, schools, football games, dancing classes, birthdays, college and retirement plans. That's him. As for me, I take one day at a time. I call it the flow, perhaps a well-plating– camouflaged, hiding the fear of facing...Amma.

Krish and I have a strong friendship to boast. However, he is like crackles of mustard seed in hot oil, unsubdued whenever this topic is brought to the table.

It's different at his home. He is the mum's favourite hence I enjoyed the Michelin Star status. It was so easy peasy lemon squeezy. Since high school, she welcomed me like a daughter. Uncompromising attention on me to the jealous penetrating eyes of his sisters. 

'Add a tablespoon of powdered cow milk. Stir once. Let it boil. It will thicken fast, her voice startled me as I was lost in my literature analysis.

Amma is a lovely lady. She is simple, quiet, patient and elegant. Her loving and giving nature goes beyond four walls. She is open-minded about everything except for two ingrained family principles; no conversion to a different religion-must be a Hindu till death do us part. The second; only a full-bred Malayalee (ethnic with descendants from Kerala, India) can be a son-in-law. 

Guess what, Krish doesn't qualify for both! He has embraced Christianity since school. Kaboom! He isn't a Malayalee. Kaboosh! The exact criterion that Amma disdained attracted me to him, not purportedly, of course.

Life isn't a box of chocolate, for me, it is a tomato chutney. Amma likes it simple as the heritage ingredient passed on to her and I love the complexity of various spices, the exploration tempting per se.

Today I am supposed to inform her about Krish.

Droplets of sweat were making trails slowly from my narrow forehead to my plumpy cheekbone, a severe panic attack was seeping in.

'Keep stirring occasionally, otherwise it gets burnt. Then, the entire chutney smells like charcoal.'

Lakshmi knew something was in Mythily's mind. Her aloofness and extraordinary obedience spelled mischief. Lacking flamboyance meant she was either unwell or bogged down with work. If sick, Mythily would sleep the entire day. If projects, her room is the haven, busy burning the midnight oil. Unless it was...a sudden thought flashed in her mind. A boy? Oh, Krishna! Lakshmi panicked and prayed - hopefully it wasn't. Krishna is 

one of the Hindu deity, depicted in ocean blue and with a flute. 

Lakshmi opposed love marriage vehemently since she was a solemn witness to her mother's suffering when her two siblings eloped to be married. A strong resilient lady like her mother crumbled with personal and societal pressure. The past dramas are still fresh and yet bland. Lakshmi felt the burden then and now.

Mythily shared her husband's liberal mindset, over-intercepting rationality and ruthless opinionated views on caste, creed, colour and religion. Both father and daughter have a bull-like stubbornness in their belief systems and futuristic thoughts. Genuine embrace of the culture and tradition but against the old school systems and unstructured religiosity. They refuse to bend to dogmas, rigidity and fear that these beliefs might bring. They claim all these are an act of status quo. They are new-age believers. It does not suit us; simple homemakers; that too a woman!

Once, her husband brought a working-class gardener to her parents' tharavaadu (ancestral house in Kerala known as tharavaadu). Her parents usually dealt with laymen outside of the compound. Clear boundaries established. A pot of water is willingly given to quench their thirst but the pot is discarded afterwards.

Her beloved husband broke the family rule - the first rule of many. A taboo to the tabernacle. He led the gardener in the family dining room. He sat, chatted and shared a meal together. The grunt and scrutiny that Lakshmi received from her family due to his insolent act, are unforgettable. Her mother thought she married an activist; a rebel; a guerilla. Thank God, it was her mother's choice; a proposed marriage. They couldn't voice it out to their son-in-law but a frown and a scowl were directed at her. The plate and cup landed in the rubbish the next day.

An apple doesn't fall far from the tree. That explains the sudden interest in making tomato chutney. Appeasement. Oh, Krishna! 

'How long to wait, Amma?', Mythily interrupted.

Lakshmi looked up brusquely and grounded herself.

'How long more to wait?' Mythily repeated her question.

After a deep sigh, 'A few more minutes. Then we cool it off a little. It's better to eat mildly hot chutney.'

'Oh'. I carefully placed the short wooden ladle near the pot, grabbed the metal chair and sat in the far corner of the dining room. It is time to spill the beans.

'Amma. Hmm, see. I need to speak to you about something. Hmm, I, well, ahem,' I was searching for the right words.

'Who is he?', Amma cut to the chase.

Oh darn! What the f... How did she...urgh mothers! They sniff the fragrant curry from afar.

'Um, Amma, we have known each other for some time. We started as friends. And then, we are...um seeing each other. The same campus.' I stumbled on choked words.

'Campus mate'? Amma looked up with a frown.

'Yes, yes".

'Oh. So, tell me about his family - mum, dad.'

I knew her infamous questions, rehearsed for three years.

'Amma, they live 15 minutes away from us. He is an Engineer and will be settling down in the UK soon. He…'

'Oh. Our neighborhood? Friends from school?'.

'Yes, yes, um but we became a coup...I mean together at the campus', I swallowed the couple even before it was formed.

'Leaving for the UK?' Amma was all ears though surely, she was making mental calculations of how many families with so and so caste and religion as similar to theirs at this housing. Eliminating one after another.

'Yes, Amma. They are nice people. He is nice. Like dad and...' 

'Like your dad?' Amma was startled.

Oops, I thought that would earn a cookie point but nope.

'I mean he is a little like Accha (father in the Malayalam language) but more like you'. Bingo! Lie number one for today! 

'Oh'. Disinterested, Lakshmi pressed on.

'Tell me about his parents, siblings and other things.'

'Other things' meant the usual caste, creed and religion. Mythily knew and dreaded it.

'His parents are into business, twelve in the family. He is the eleventh.’

'What caste?', Amma broke the pot.

'Um, well, Amma please just see him once. You will like him. I promise.'

'You mean you don't know? What's his name?'. Lakshmi provoked.

It is my RIP moment. Okay, let's do it and get it over with.

'Aaron!', I said in a whisper.

'What?’

'Aaron'.

'What? A Christian?' Astounded, Lakshmi's eyes bulged like a clean-boiled white egg.

'Yes, yes'.

'And, what else should I know', Amma interrogated with a raised eyebrow. 

'He is a Christian. Born Telugu and...'

'A convert? So, he is a rebel who is disloyal to his roots.' Amma became cynical.

'Amma, that's not fair! His parents blessed him.', Mythily was irritated with the remark. 

'Look, Mythee. He is a Christian and of a different caste. He is leaving for the UK. That means you will leave eventually.'

'A problem?'

'Not at all. Caste and religion are. What would people say? How would you be accepted in the family circle? Oh, Krishna! Just like my siblings. History repeating itself. I gave you all the freedom. This is your return for my trust?'

'Society...fuc...I mean, who cares? We don't abide by their rules. In this era and yet...darn the status quo.', Mythily snapped.

'Language! Spoken truly like your father- the fiery free-spiritedness. Lakshmi's fear boiled and increased with the temperature.

'Amma, just meet him once. Please. He is like you Amma - loving, loves his family, a good cook, pious and always smiling.' 

Amma held out her right hand as a gesture to stop.

'All I care is - he is a Christian Telugu boy. So, what are you going to raise your kids as? Will they speak Malayalam? Know our culture, traditions, festivals and etcetera? Will they pray to Krishna or Christ? Worship at church or temple? Ponggal (Indian sweet rice) or bread and alcohol. Kids with Indian or Western names? Tell me.' Amma was getting uptight and strongly cynical. Every syllable was accentuated to highlight sarcasm and passive-aggressive nastiness.

'Amma, please. Stop this.'

'Oh, Krishna! Amma walked up to the pot of boiling tomato chutney and reduced the flaming fire. The lesser the flame the better she thought.

Lakshmi felt like a failure. Bad parenting. Her late husband had strings of expectations but she only had two. To give a strong identity to the family and to provide the roots. She silently contemplated and cried out to Krishna. Her tears welled up. Memories of her childhood, marriage, late husband, and family are reflected in her glistened teardrops. She wiped them, walked to the rows of spice racks and picked a small clear blue bottle and another white bottle. 

'Amma, you approved brother's marriage to a Chinese girl. Unhappiness at first, but eventually you accepted them both. Eventually, you will accept Aaron. He is nice.'

'Oh, Krishna! She says nice! That's different, and this is different.'

'Hmm, he is a guy and I am a girl. You need the guys to continue the lineage and legacy, unaffordable to burn and char-grill those relationships. So, whatever they do, or whomever they marry, be it white, brown or black eventually it's okay.' Mythily retorted lagging her sentences.

'That's not what I meant.'

'And yet you did.', Mythily snapped again.

An eye for an eye isn't the right move. Lakshmi took another route. Beneath her cool exterior, she held her composure tight. She reached into the clear white bottle and sprinkled the pink Himalayan salt into the tomato chutney.

'As the chutney is ready, add some salt to taste. You may chant Vasudevam Sudham Devam ...Krishnam Vandey Jagat Gurum (prayer chants for the Lord Krishna)' as you add this to the meal, Amma said as she held the blue glass bottle in her hand. 

Boom! It’s a hard wallop at the gut.

'Love is blinding, isn't it Mythily? Especially the young love.' Amma's sudden gentle words floated as whispers sent shivers.

'It inspires you to fight everything and everyone including a mother', she stirred in word after word slowly.

I stood, tasting and absorbing what was served to me, spoon by spoon - sour, bitter, pungent, spicy, umami - taste of sweet, missing.

'Young people, young ambition and ever so young desires, that change over time. You could be ill-suited for each other, someday.

'We have been strong together, are strong together, ', my defense flared.

Ignoring Mythily's pitch, Lakshmi with a steady gaze whispered gently, 'Mythily, let him go.'

'Amma!'

'I won’t bless', Amma's whispers lingered.

Worse than a loud reprimand is the silent scream of an unapproving mum. Her gentleness was as sharp as the vegetable shredder. Her low-toned voice sizzled. Her sieved words pricked.

Amma's direct instruction to let him go triggered the rebellious button, my entire biological system perked up. Every hormone from happiness to depression swirled, somersaulted. An awaiting outrage was ready to spark, light and consume us.

Why should I give him up for some imbecile-blind beliefs and practices, irrational relations and unrelatable society? What do they know about us? My mind’s true words were spoken aloud in silence.

I love and adore my Amma. But Aaron...I've seen my brother get his way one too many times. Convincing her may take years. Counter-attacking isn't my game plan. I respect her beliefs - and mine. I am not a rebel but a proponent of love. Amma's questions were reasonable but, we have welcomed Gen Zs and Alphas. I do wish Dad was here. 

'Tomato chutney is cooked.' Amma casually said giving precedence to the chutney than my love life. She gently closed it with a lid. Thud! The gas stove was shut off.

The dish was ready but my appetite for it was lost.

I stood up.

'I am leaving for Jess's house. She is off for the holidays. I will be back late. Please eat first.' I walked out without turning back. Amma must be hurt and annoyed. So am I.

'The tomato chutney will be here. Be back after bidding your farewell', Amma said.

I knew what she meant. She hoped I would dash to Krish's house and end it today and now. It hurts. I halted my steps, closed my eyes, took a deep breath and looked back. Our eyes met

'His name is Aaron. Aaron Krishna. Kkrisshhna.' I too know modulation.

I am my father's daughter. I am my mother's daughter after all.

Amma leaned back at the green cabinet in unbelief, lips tightened, arms folded on her chest, blinked for a second, and inhaled slowly, she observed Mythily, reading not just her mind but soul too - her daughter has made a decision, narrated her preference, declared a war - for her love story.

My mustered courage shook me. Trembling within, I walked to the porch and closed the tall blue iron gate behind me. 

My right hand dialed Krish while my left tapped my chest and whispered- 'let's not stir further, let it simmer, let it simmer.'

Mythily opened the big blue metal gate. Removed her shoes at the entrance of the door. She entered the house. She made her way into the kitchen, directly to the pot that was boiling with the tomato chutney. The fire was well-adjusted and slow, she took a blue glass bottle from a neatly arranged spice rack, took a few grains in her hands and dropped them into the chutney. 

'Now it stays together isn't it?'. A young girlish voice was heard. 

'Hmm?', Mythily murmured. 

'The secret ingredient to the chutney is the grains of ground rice, just about one teaspoon - that which gives the gooeyness, lumps it together?.

'Yes!', Mythily nods at her 13-year-old daughter with an approving smile. 

Aruna stirred the chutney steadily. 

'Oh, btw, check your phone, there must be 7 missed calls. He left a message about the dinners. Shall I reply?", Aruna asked with enthusiasm. 

'Ok go on'. 

Aruna typed fast, excitedly - Dear Mr. Krish@Unc Krish, yes yes yes we will join the Diwali Dinner and Christopher's 16th birthday party. Amma said a yes, Yay!