Legacy, broken

Charu came from a family of skilled cooks. Her sister was the owner of Calimiri,  the cloud kitchen which was slowly turning into a franchise. Her cousin, the writer of 101 recipes to win a man’s heart. Another one, the famous dietician that Kareena Kapoor consulted to retain her famous sindhi figure after her childbirth.

Basically all the women in the family were skilled cooks, like an unbroken legacy of little more than 50 years (or so was Charu told). 

But it was more than just a passing down of secret recipes and ingredients. There was a family secret  - guarded with life, especially after the Akka Aaji was driven out after the village 25 years ago. That is another story to tell. The secret was, - that the women in her family knew magic. Magic that enabled them to make any plain dish into a sumptuous feast. Even the damn khichdi you make on your stomach upset day would be eaten like a finger licking biriyani. 

So when Charu started living out on her own, she knew that it was time that everyone found out. That the magic was not working for her. 

“Tell me about it again” Charu was tired, but she knew her sister meant well. She took a deep breath. 

“I tried making methi paratha this weekend. I kneaded the dough and rolled out the paratha. But when it was time to put it on the tawa and chant our secret mantra - I simply forgot. I had to hunt in the cupboard for mom’s diary for an hour to get it” 

Charu left the part where she had left the gas on till she found the diary. 

“And then?” 

“Then I did chant it - I recited from the diary so that I get it right” - and still, the paratha burnt. The second one turned out to be fine, but there was too much garlic. You know na, in whatever capacity we add, it always gets perfect in the end”. 

Chaitu nodded, lost in thought. 

And then there was the palak paneer incident. Do you want me to talk about it - go through it again? 

The green stains were still on the wall - of palak puree flying off from the running mixer because Charu had forgotten to cover the lid with her hand. 

“No, no” - Chaitu smiled, but it came across more like a grimace of an unpleasant memory. 

“Why can’t the magic be more like we just assemble all the ingredients and voila - the dish is made” 

“And the ingredients that we forgot to add come flying from the fridge - or the market, isn't it?”

Both laughed and the tension lifted for a moment. 

“You know that it does not work this way,” Chaitu said, her voice sounding gentle, like their mother. 

“We have to complete the entire recipe - cutting and grinding and stirring and everything in between. That is the point. The magic is only so the spices blend perfectly, the flames burn not too slow and not too bright, the food gets cooked, just perfectly. And it only works when we do everything by our own hands. This is not some AI shit. This is our forefathers whispering secrets in our heads. 

“Foremothers, you mean?”. Only women in our family know this ‘magic’. 

“So we have the blessing of our Kuldevi (family Goddess)”

“Or maybe the men never entered the kitchen to find out”

“Charu, right now, we are talking about why you have lost touch. I know about your work - it's too much on your plate right now. But if you don't get it back , you will break the legacy. Our mother’s legacy. Is there anything which is bothering you? Talk to me!”. 

Chaitu did not mention Jugnu’s - her dog’s death. Her sister loved her, but she was too practical. In her mind, something as inconsequential as an animal’s death could not be used as an excuse to destroy something which was passed down to them through generations. But Jugnu was only the last straw. Amit wanted her to meet his parents, now that he had told them about her. She was just not ready for any family meeting, not even with her own. The work - well where to begin. She tried to keep herself busy, working up late and on weekends - but something was still out of her grasp. What was she contributing to? What was she learning? Days filled out, listlessly. Sleep was elusive. The more she slept, the more she wanted - till the weekend she looked forward to waking up late. 

There was nothing that Chaitu could understand. There was nothing that Charu could do to explain. 

Weeks after Chaitu left, Charu didn't dare to attempt anything big again. The plain roti sabji tasted okay - making her reflect on her basic cooking skills. On most days - she had lunch from the office or the subway. Evening was a sandwich or a chat, and then some rice. 

Then one day, Amit decided to come home. 

“This is it,” Charu thought. 

“Time to show the family that I am my mother’s daughter, after all”. I really like Amit, and I like doing stuff for him. If I cook his favorite meal, I am sure this mantra will work for me” she said to Chaitu. 

Ignoring her pleas to come over and help, Charu geared up to this. 

She decided on Narali bhaat (coconut rice). Amit has a sweet tooth, and this was her family’s patent recipe, the one that won her Rekha Maasi the MasterChef Australia award. 

First it was to get the ingredients right. Coconut. Check. Basmati chawal. Check. Dry Fruits. Check. Everything was brought and assembled. Then came the worn out diary. And finally, her own private chant, that she created for herself. “I love cooking… I love cooking… I love cooking…” 10 times until her mind gets convinced. Or so she hoped. 

So far so good. 

As she was grating the coconut, she felt herself comparing it to the time wasted in putting up data on the excel sheet. Monotonous. Tiring. And yet so essential. Next she washed the rice clean. Her hands felt cold. Filling it with water, she kept it boiling. Watching the froth rising to the surface, she wondered how it would feel to have her insides boiled and churned, till all the sharpness softened. She didn't like to remain so angry all the time… but these days.. 

Breaking the jaggery was the worst part. She wished she had done this yesterday. Her knife and hands were all sticky from effort. Like her relationships, she mused. No matter how much she resolved to untangle it, it got messed up. She kept missing the kaju and badam as she attempted to slice them into tiny parts. She missed her mother.

Sweat broke out as she started stirring the dry fruits, the cinnamon, and finally the jaggery. The flat had no fan in the kitchen, only a tiny window that opened to the next building. She had chosen this for her job, which was nearby. It came with a hefty rent and no amenities. She suddenly remembered her childhood home, the open kitchen and her mothers laughter ringing across corridors. 

By the time she added rice to the kadhai, her hands were paining from the constant stirring. It will mix on its own, what is the mantra for, she decided. So after 2 and a half hours of sweating out in the kitchen, she finally held the book in her trembling hand. Standing before the kadhai, Charu tried to remember her nameless and faceless ancestors. Finally focusing on her mother’s face, and praying for the miracle that will save her life, she chanted. 

Amit came down at the decided hour, just in time for Charu to clean the kitchen and clean herself. She put on that nice blue dress which brought color in her pale gray eyes, and brushed her long hair. She was ready. 

“Amit, you have to tell me the truth on how you like the dish”. She was too nervous to taste it on her own. “Like, don't be tactful or think about how I would feel about the criticism. I want the truth, and nothing but the truth” 

“Wow, it feels like I am on a trial here. Why did you have to make so much on your own… we could have ordered …”. Amit left the sentence under Charu’s gaze. 

Quietly, he took a spoonful. The tension was palpable now. 

“Its… good”. 

“The truth, Amit. Please”. 

“Okay, I will be truthful. The rice is a little overcooked, but the taste is still nice”. 

Another spoonful. “Hmm… and jaggery burned by tongue. How did it not melt?”

“It did, of course. I was stirring the pot for 15 whole min”. Charu felt her heart sinking. She wished she hadn't asked him to be so frank about it. 

Amit took the next bite, and nearly spluttered. “No, it's not jaggery. It is something else you put. The taste is actually bitter”  . 

Charu was angry now. “It's some kind of joke isn't it? I spend so much time cutting the sticky thing into small pieces so that it melts.. 

“Charu, don't feel bad. It is overall good. Next time don't put so much kaju badam”. 

They are so sharp - it hurts to eat” he added guiltily - under her glare. 

“Do you want to give it a try?”

“No, leave it” It took all her willpower to not burst into tears. “Lets order something, shall we?”. 

Amit took a deep breath. “I told you we should, as soon as I came. This dinner was to spend some quality time with you, and how can I do it when you are so tired. You don't have to impress me with all this. I am always, constantly impressed by you”. 

The tears came out now. 

“You don't understand”. 

“But I do. I know all about this cooking madness in your family. Mine has the whole engineering thing. Fucking 8 cousins in total working in IT. And you know what I do?”

“What?”

“I spam them with so much happy work – happy colleague pics on instagram that they hate me now. 

Charu laughed. The first in the day. It felt like a tension lifting from her chest. She suddenly craved a cheese burger. 

The next morning, and the morning after that, and the days and weeks after that, she liked what she made. Either the magic came back or she stopped caring. She did not serve anyone to find out. 

But when she was putting the book back to her secret place in the cupboard, she came across the words, right on the first page. Her mother’s handwriting. 

“Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”